


How to Train Your Werewolf

by impalagirl, wilddragonflying



Series: Roleplays [21]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, F/M, Full Shift Werewolves, HTTYD-Type AU, Kinda-sorta bestiality?, M/M, alpha!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-16 09:09:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2263950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalagirl/pseuds/impalagirl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eighty-three years ago, werewolves were discovered. Shortly thereafter, they were forced out of human towns and hunted like animals. Now, in an effort to impress Lydia Martin, Stiles Stilinski drags his best friend into the woods. What happens next changes their lives, and just might change the course of history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Train Your Werewolf

**Author's Note:**

> So this is sort of a HTTYD AU; original idea is impalagirl's.
> 
> Quick note: That "kinda-sorta bestiality" tag is because Derek and Stiles have sex while Derek is in beta form, but we faded to black before anything got explicit, so feel free to use your imagination. Also, werewolves in beta form in this verse are pretty much covered in fur because after eighty-three years in the wild, you really think they're going to have clothes? But at the same time we didn't want any wolves walking around with their junk hanging out.

It would later occur to Scott, as it often did, that he should have stopped to think before blindly following Stiles on his latest quest for glory. For now, he was perfectly content to crash through the Preserve in his friend's wake, if a little breathless; asthmatics and running were very rarely a complimentary combination. It didn't matter that it had been drilled into them since they were babies that the Preserve was the one place they were forbidden to enter - Scott knew that Stiles would never knowingly put him in danger. The problem with that was that Stiles very rarely realised his plans were dangerous.

One might think it would be common sense, given that the Preserve was known to be the hunting grounds of Beacon Hills' werewolf population.

Admittedly, the number of werewolves worldwide had dwindled significantly since their discovery eighty three years ago, and California often boasted that they'd been rid of wild werewolves for the past sixty. Beacon Hills, however, was the anomaly. Despite being home to some of the country's finest Hunters, the once-peaceful town was now a rather literal beacon, enticing werewolves from all over to try their hand at reclaiming the territory. The best way the humans could think to explain it was that Beacon Hills had been sacred to the werewolves before they'd been driven from society - perhaps even home to some kind of werewolf royalty. All the locals knew for sure was that their town was always excluded from the statistics put forward every year, and that their children would die if they were not brought up with proper instruction on how to trap and kill werewolves.

Scott and Stiles were among those coming to the end of their training, but their excursion into the Preserve was not a part of it. A young beta had been caught by Stiles' father a few days earlier, two others shot and killed, but there were rumours that they hadn't been alone, rumours that consisted of a great black wolf and glowing red eyes. Stiles' father had dismissed them, had laughed Stiles out of the room when he had suggested that maybe an alpha remained, but Stiles hadn't been perturbed. The alphas were among those who had attempted to negotiate peace when the war first began, but they were also the most violent, and this along with the fact that they could turn humans with a single bite meant that they had been wiped out long before Stiles' parents were born. Still, Stiles was convinced that some alphas had survived - and he was determined to catch one.

The reason behind this lay not with fame or reward, but with love. Lydia Martin was another of their peers who was due to graduate a Hunter, and Stiles had loved her since the day he set eyes on her. The only problem was that she didn't even know he existed. The only Hunters worthy of Lydia Martin's attention were the most brave, the most skilled, and the most accomplished; while Stiles was intelligent and handy with a rifle, he was too clumsy, and too prone to fits of hyperactivity, to match up to her requirements. Catching an alpha, however, would earn him a fast pass straight to the top of her list.

As the two friends neared the spot where the betas had been found, Stiles signalled to Scott that they should slow down. Grateful, Scott came to a stop, his hands braced on his thighs as he wheezed for breath. Stiles stopped too, his eyes scanning the dark trees around them for movement, perhaps even a glint of red. At last he saw it, and his hand flew to the gun at his waist, but he was too late. A giant wolf leapt from between two bushes and threw itself at Stiles, who fell back with a shout. Used to the half-man, half-wolf form of the betas used in training, he'd thought he was prepared for the rumoured full wolf of the alpha, but he now realised that nothing could have readied him for the sight. He fumbled for the gun, cocked it, and whirled around to face the beast - which had already fallen upon Scott.

"No!" Stiles roared, and fired off a round into the wolf's flank. It reared back with a pained snarl, the wound already smoking as the wolfsbane burned into its flesh, and Stiles took the opportunity to shoot again. He missed his target, but the sound was enough to startle the wolf into running back into the darkness of the trees, and that was fine with Stiles. Scott was still sprawled out on the forest floor, and Stiles thought he could see blood; there was no time for chasing fairytales now. Taking care to keep his gun close, Stiles scrambled across the ground to his friend's side. "Scott? Scotty, are you okay? Jesus Christ, talk to me, man!"

Scott groaned, curling around his injured side; the wolf had bitten through his shirt and deep into his abdomen, just below his ribs. He hissed as he reached for the hem, pulling it up gingerly. "Fuck," he muttered; the wound was starting to knit itself back together. "You're going to have to shoot me." It was the law; if any human was bit by an alpha and turned, they were to be put down immediately. Wolves with hunter knowledge could not be permitted to live.

For the second time that day, Stiles fell back, and landed on his ass in front of Scott. The gun slid from his grip and he stared at his friend with horror in his eyes - but not fear. "No," he rasped, his gaze fixed on the now-smooth stretch of skin that had, moments ago, born the most horrific of wolf bites. "I can't shoot you, Scotty. And who even knows if that's still the law? No one's been turned for years; alphas are supposed to be extinct, remember?" The argument was weak and they both knew it, but the fact remained: Stiles couldn't shoot the boy who was practically his brother.

The look Scott gave Stiles told him exactly what he thought of that. "You know how dangerous wolves are," he grunted. "I'm not going to be any different than them."

"Sure you are, Scotty," Stiles all but whined. "You've been raised human; you don't have to be like them." He pictured his friend as one of the monsters they trained with, eyes yellow and fangs bared, straining against the chains around his chest and clawing at the air in an effort to reach human onlookers; to kill them. He shuddered. "We don't have to tell anyone, okay? Not yet. You're not feeling a desperate urge to eat me, are you? So we can keep it quiet for now and maybe... maybe I can find something."

Scott, for all that everything in him was telling him to follow the law, didn't want to die. He nodded, instead. "Just feel like I'm in pain, but it's not as bad," he said finally, looking back at the bite; it was almost completely healed now. "How the hell are we going to keep this a secret? You know what the wolves are like at the full moon."

Stiles thought about it. "We've got a few weeks until the next one," he reasoned. "That's plenty of time to come up with a plan if we can't fix you before then. And we will fix you, Scott, I promise."

Scott hesitated, but in the end, he gave in. "Help me up," he grumbled, holding out a hand.

***

Stiles spent the drive home apologising for getting Scott into this mess and vowing to get him out of it, and then spent the rest of the evening wheedling until his father agreed to grant him access to the vault. What had once been the town's police station now housed the werewolves used for training, the creatures locked in the old cells that had since been reinforced with wolfsbane and mountain ash and everything else that could be used to contain them, as well as all of the information on the subject that had been built up over the years. This archive was kept in the station's vault, which was even more heavily secured than the cells; it was very rare that even the Argents accessed it.

But Stiles would be a real Hunter soon, and he'd never given his father a reason to distrust him. Why wouldn't Stilinski believe him when he said that he wanted to look up some of the rarer forms of wolfsbane, with a view to maybe advancing their weapons once he came of age? Armed with everything he needed to get into the vault, Stiles left with a promise not to take anything out and to be home for dinner.

Only one of these promises was broken, and it was not done lightly. Still, Stiles had to take responsibility for his actions, and for the next week he stayed up until the small hours each night, turning the pages of books twice his age and scrolling through files on his ancient computer. He was just beginning to accept the fact that maybe his efforts were futile when he found it.

"So it's only a myth," Stiles began the next day, voice hushed. He was standing with Scott a little ways away from the other teenagers, all clustered together while waiting for their turn. "But I mean, the alpha thing was a myth too, and that was obviously true." From behind the high walls that surrounded what had once been the school's playing field, they could hear Allison fighting one of the betas. She was almost definitely winning, but Scott was staring towards the gate in concern anyway. Stiles snapped his fingers in front of Scott's face. "Are you even listening to a word I'm saying? You just have to kill the alpha that bit you, and you'll be human again."

That got Scott's attention; it had been rough, these past few days, trying to adjust to his new senses. He was just glad he hadn't gone into the arena yet; he had no clue how whichever beta he would have to fight would react. He had to smell different or something. Still, Scott tried to focus on what Stiles had said. "I kill him, and I turn human? Seems a bit far-fetched; we've never found any sort of cure."

"We've never found an alpha!" Stiles argued, nearly hitting Scott as he gesticulated wildly. "Come on, man, this is our best shot. It's our only shot."

Scott worried his lower lip, but nodded. "Can you track him? You're the best tracker, besides Allison. And... We probably shouldn't get her involved, cause of her family." The Argents were the best hunters in Western North America, maybe even the entire continent.

Stiles, ever modest, grinned. "Dude, I need, like, a day. Two max, and you'll have your alpha cowering at your feet. All you gotta do is deliver the last blow."

Scott nodded, returning his attention to the fight drawing to its conclusion inside the arena.

***

Derek growled under his breath, trying to turn his head to examine the wound in his flank; he couldn't see much, but what he could see was enough to confirm what he could feel: the wolfsbane wasn't healing, but was spreading slowly. Some hunter mix. Derek's upper lip curled into a snarl as he thought of the two hunters who had dared to enter his territory, had dared to interrupt him as he tried to get his pack back; the last member who was alive, anyway. His alpha instincts could sense that there was still one member alive, and he was with some omegas, omegas who hadn't had a pack in a long time. Omegas would be all too glad for an alpha to lead and protect them.

Derek shook his head; he couldn't do anything until this wolfsbane was gone, and it wouldn't be gone until it was burned out. The only bad thing?

He couldn't shift with a wolfsbane bullet inside of him.

***

It quickly turned out that Stiles had overestimated himself. Three days since his promise to Scott and the alpha was still nowhere to be seen. Placating Scott was easy, but Stiles was starting to worry. The full moon was fast approaching and if he couldn't find the alpha, Scott was dead. Stiles was actually starting to wonder if the alpha had gone that way, too. He'd wounded it pretty badly, and unless alphas were even better at healing than betas, it wouldn't be in any condition to get the heck out of Dodge; it might well have already succumbed to its injuries. But Stiles forged on, pressing deeper into the Preserve each day, deeper than he'd ever gone before, looking for any sign that would tell him where the alpha had fled to. 

In the end, it wasn't his skill at all that led him to the creature. He'd found a couple of regurgitated rabbits - which, _gross_ \- and had been poking around looking for tracks when he happened across the den. At least, that was what he wanted to call it. It was well-made, the mouth of it partially concealed by the plants around it, and looked like it might have belonged to some other animal before the alpha took it over. And the alpha had definitely done that; Stiles could see the thick, black blood it had left behind upon its entrance to the earth.

Stiles advanced, stooping to a low crouch, rifle at the ready. What he hadn't counted on was that the alpha was not resting inside, but was on its way home.

Derek growled when he caught the scent of the hunter who had shot him; he may have been weakened, but he was strong enough for one last act of revenge. He blocked the exit easily with his enormous bulk, and let out a low, feral growl before lunging for the human, landing on his back and taking them both to the ground.

Had he the breath, Stiles would have cried out his surprise and outrage at having been assaulted like this, but it was punched from him by the force with which he hit the ground. Hot, salty blood filled his mouth as his chin came down hard against the rifle, causing his teeth to puncture his lower lip, but he couldn't think about that right now. He rolled, managed to get out from under the bulk of the wolf, scrambled a short distance and rolled again, aiming the rifle at the beast.

"Stop right there!" Stiles yelled, even though he doubted the thing would understand. He spat out the excess blood before continuing. "I've fucking got you now, you bastard."

Derek snarled when he caught sight of the rifle, and when the hunter-- he was only a _pup_ \-- yelled at him, Derek didn't understand exactly what he was saying, but the meaning of the gun pointed in his direction was clear enough. He roared in defiance, hackles raised and eyes glowing as he subsided into a constant, threatening rumble, poised to attack; he'd already been shot once, he had no fear of being shot again.

Yeah," Stiles baited, scanning the wolf for the best place to shoot. He had the rifle aimed directly into its face, but as much as he might want to, he couldn't be the one to kill it. "Bet you wanna rip my head off right now. Try it, I dare you."

Derek snarled again, stepping forward, and trying to ignore how the bullet in his flank pulled and made him limp as he moved. He moved to circle the hunter, looking for an opening, but the pup was good-- he kept the rifle trained on Derek the entire time. Derek rumbled in frustration, a bitten-off sound of pain escaping him as more blood was forced from the wound as he walked.

The wolf's movement opened up the perfect opportunity for another non-lethal shot, but Stiles found himself distracted by the wound in the creature's side. It looked painful, and was bleeding sluggishly, that gross black stuff matted into its fur and glistening wetly. It even sounded hurt, and Stiles actually began to wonder - could he bring himself to shoot it?

There. The muzzle of the rifle lowered just a bit, and Derek took his opportunity; he leaped past the hunter and bolted out of the den, plunging into the brush and ignoring the pain in his flank; he needed to get away. He may not care too much about himself, but he still cared about his last pack member. He needed to get Boyd out of the town.

This time, Stiles did cry out, and he started after the wolf, but quickly realised there was no use in giving chase; the wolf was huge, and even wounded outran him with ease. Stiles made his way back through the preserve, and he was furious with himself. Why had he hesitated? He needed to capture the wolf; it was Scott's only hope! As he returned to his beat up jeep and chambered inside, he decided to return tomorrow - and this time, he wouldn't hesitate.

***

Derek had debated whether or not to come back to his den, compromised as it was by the hunter, but in the end he decided to return. He had no other home.

The sun was shining, and Derek took advantage of it, laying down just outside of the den, injured side up-- the wolfsbane had spread even further from the adrenaline of the day before, Derek could feel. The sun felt pleasant on his fur, and soon he found himself drifting off to sleep, deeper, perhaps, than was wise.

Stiles, when he crept up to the den a few hours later, could hardly believe his luck. The wolf was not only there, but it was asleep in the open! He could not have dreamt up a better opportunity if he tried; it would be so easy to incapacitate the wolf and drag it off to the jeep.

And yet...

Stiles set his rifle down and crept closer to the creature, curious. Its breathing was deep, if someone what laboured; the wound in its side looked considerably worse. It snorted in its sleep and Stiles jumped back, but he needn't have worried; it didn't wake. It actually kind of looked like it needed the rest. Deep down, Stiles knew he couldn't attack the wolf while it was this vulnerable. It just wouldn't be right. Instead, he sat down at the edge of the small clearing, one hand on his gun, and just watched.

Derek didn't spend much longer asleep; something told him that there was someone else near him. Cracking one eye open, he tried to lunge to his feet when he recognized the hunter from the day before, only to fall back with a pained groan; the wolfsbane was finally starting to seriously affect him. If the hunter wanted to kill him, he wouldn't be able to fight back.

Instinctively, Stiles held out a hand, not the one on the gun, towards the werewolf. "Easy," he placated softly. "Easy, I'm not gonna hurt you." And what the fuck was that? He had to hurt this thing; Scott had to kill it! But it looked so hurt already…

Derek snarled, eyeing the hunter's hand warily. He didn't trust humans, never had, and this one especially. But it seemed to be... concerned about Derek, for some reason. Derek huffed and settled down, still keeping a wary eye on the hunter.

Stiles didn't know what to do. He couldn't let Scott down, he couldn't be the reason his friend died, but every fibre of his being was screaming at him to spare this werewolf. It looked so helpless, so weak, and it wouldn't be a fair kill. Then again, it wasn't fair that Scott had been bitten, either.

Stiles picked up the rifle and laid it across his lap, looking between it and the wolf. "I don't suppose you're gonna come quietly?" he asked it blithely. 

Derek huffed, and rolled his head in an imitation of an eye roll. He wasn't certain what the human wanted-- it had been so long since he'd heard human words-- but it couldn't be anything good.

Stiles tutted. "Sassy little bastard," he muttered. It was quickly becoming apparent that he wouldn't be able to move the werewolf without help, despite his original plans to shoot it again and shift it himself. It was just too big. Maybe he should call Scott?

They were stuck at this impasse, as far as Derek could tell. He wasn't going anywhere, and neither, it seemed, was the human. So they stayed where they were, as the wolfsbane continued spreading through Derek's body faster now that he was growing weaker. His breathing became labored, and he no longer had the energy to sit up and watch the hunter; he flopped onto his side with a low groan, his eyes sliding shut. 

Stiles was on his knees beside the wolf in an instant, decision made. It wasn't a case of having to shoot the wolf again or move it himself; it was a case of making sure it survived. "Hey, hey, don't you die," he instructed fiercely, glaring into its face when it blinked its eyes open. "You can't die, okay? If you do, my friend is fucked."

Derek tried his best to growl at the human, but when it didn't come out as threatening as he'd hoped, he gave up in favor of huffing out a sharp breath and letting his eyes close again.

Stiles cursed and stood up to retrieve his rifle. "Okay," he muttered as he released the bullets and started to prise open one of the cartridges. "I'm gonna save your ass, because if you die, Scott can't kill you. That's the deal, okay?" He emptied some of the wolfsbane out into his palm and searched his pockets for a lighter. "I'm not saving you because you're cute or because those puppy eyes got to me." He lit the lighter and showed the flame to the powder. "I'm saving you so that you can die at someone else's hands. _Got it?_ " To punctuate these final words, he stuffed the ashes into the wolf's wound.

Derek howled when he felt the wolfsbane ash seeping into the wound, but it was doing its job-- he could feel the wolfsbane burning itself out of his blood. It was agonizing, but Derek pushed through it.

When it was done, he slumped back down to the ground, panting heavily. The hunter had moved away while Derek was thrashing, and the wolf growled, reaching for the shift; he shifted to beta form; in this form, all werewolves looked their most unnatural. Black fur covered his groin and lower stomach, wrapping around his waist and edging up onto his chest and over his arms; his ears were still pointed, although now they had only a light dusting of fur on the top, the rest of it looking like a normal human ear. His muzzle receded, leaving a mostly-human face in its place, devoid of fur except on the sides of his face. 

The alpha pushed himself into a crouch, studying the human intently, searching for the words his mother had taught him. "Why?" he finally growled out. Why had the human saved him, when humans were only focused on killing wolves?

It took Stiles a moment to find his voice. What he had just witnessed was as horrifying as it was beautiful, and he was... speechless. Which made a change, he mused to himself. But he should probably say _something_ because the wolf had spoken to him, had asked why. Why what? Why had he shot it? Why had he _saved_ it? Stiles decided to settle on the latter, because the answer to the former was surely obvious. "Because you were dying," he said simply.

Derek frowned as he tried to understand. "You're... hunter," he said slowly; it was hard to communicate like this. He much preferred the way wolves communicated.

Stiles huffed, his gaze flitting away from the wolf lest it read his true intentions in his eyes. "Yeah," he said. "I know. Are you... okay now?"

Derek jerked one shoulder in a shrug; he was _better_ but nowhere near healed. He eyed the hunter warily for another moment before asking, "Name?"

Stiles blinked in surprise. "My-- my name?" he stammered. "It's Stiles." And then, because he felt stupidly at a disadvantage, he added, "What's yours?"

"Derek," the wolf answered. After a moment, he turned and plunged back into the brush, leaving the hunter-- Stiles-- far behind.

***

Scott was freaking out. He wasn't quite to panicking-- he'd already done that once, and he was still thanking his lucky stars he'd been alone, because he knew he'd shifted. Stiles hadn't brought the alpha in yet, and the full moon was two and a half weeks away.

When Stiles got back that afternoon, Scott dragged him away from everyone as soon as he could. "Have you found it yet?" he hissed. "It's been four days!"

"Easy, easy!" Stiles soothed, holding his hands up in surrender. "I found him, okay? But he got away."

" _What?_ " Scott screeched. "Why? How?"

Stiles winced. "Calm down," he pleaded. "I had to... I had to save him. And then he ran away."

"You did _what?_ " Scott growled. "Why didn't you just call me out there when you had him?" His heart rate was climbing, and his skin was itching; Scott was willing to bet that right now, his eyes were gold.

Scott's bet was dead-on, and Stiles actually took a step back from him. "Scott, please. You need to calm down and listen to me," he reasoned. "There wasn't time to call you; he was dying. I had to save him right then or your chance would've been lost, and I was going to call you afterwards but he got away. But it's okay. I'll find him again, Scott, and you can come with me."

Scott squeezed his eyes shut, fists clenching as he tried to calm down. "Okay," he said finally, teeth gritted. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Stiles agreed, reaching out to lay a gentle hand on Scott's shoulder. "Until then, happy thoughts."

***

'Happy thoughts' only lasted until Stiles brought Scott to the Preserve the next day; almost immediately, Scott thought he could hear someone following them, but whoever it was didn't make a move until they'd reached the clearing in front of the den. Scott growled instinctively; the clearing was filled with the scent of wolfsbane and sickness, and it burned. "Stiles," Scott growled, fighting to keep himself under control in the face of these newer instincts that were telling him he needed to leave, "what are we doing here?"

Stiles turned to look at Scott, bemused. "This is where I found the alpha," he explained.

A stick cracked behind them, and Scott whirled, snarling; he could _feel_ himself shifting, but he couldn't stop it. Besides, who was out here to see them, besides the alpha? "Where he found us, you mean," he growled, staring at the giant black wolf stepping out of the brush in front of them.

Derek's hackles were raised, and he was growling softly under his breath, eyes flickering from the beta to the human. He growled and snapped his teeth as he stared at the wolf; Derek recognized him as the human he'd bitten a few days ago. This wolf was _his_ beta, and he would submit. He stalked forward, stiff-legged; in this form, his shoulders came up to the humans' chests. Derek growled again, moving right into the beta's space and staring him dead in the eye.

If he was still asthmatic, Scott would've been having a panic attack. As it was, he was breathing rapidly, searching the alpha's gaze-- why wasn't he attacking? For that matter, why wasn't Scott attacking? This was his chance!

And yet...

And yet, nothing. Scott was human, not a wolf. This was his chance, and he was going to take it.

Scott lunged.

***

"Well, this is awkward."

The alpha shot Stiles a dark look and he put his hands up, brought one to his lips and mimed locking them shut. _Jesus Christ._ That had been the most anticlimactic fight he'd ever witnessed. Scott had barely gotten a few hits in before the wolf had literally roared him into submission, and he was currently crouched on the ground, not quite cowering, his throat bared. The alpha - Derek, Stiles reminded himself - had since shifted so that he looked more like a beta again, caught somewhere between wolf and human, and was standing between Stiles and Scott. Whenever Stiles tried to take a step towards his friend, he was growled at until he backed off again. Honestly, 'awkward' didn't even begin to sum it up.

Derek narrowed his eyes at Stiles, snarling once again to make his point before he turned to the beta, crouching and offering a hand-- it wouldn't do for his beta to be scared of him. The younger wolf was slow to take Derek's hand, but Derek waited patiently, hauling the teenager to his feet when he finally took his hand. "Name?" he asked, looking at the kid steadily.

Scott hesitated, glancing at Stiles; really, that had been embarrassing how easy it had been for the alpha to beat him. After a second, though, he answered, "Scott."

Derek nodded, and gestured to himself. "Derek. Pack."

Scott's eyes flew to Stiles once again. "Is he-- Are you saying I'm part of your _pack?!_ "

Derek frowned, and nodded. "I am alpha. You, beta."

Stiles' eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "We need to leave," he said firmly. "Scott, if you can't do what we came here to do, that's fine, I-- I don't blame you, but I'm not going to let you run off into the wild and become part of his pack. You're more human than you are wolf, and we can keep it that way, but we have to leave."

Scott made to move towards Stiles, and Derek stepped in front of him, growling until Scott stepped back. Derek then advanced on Stiles, backing him until his back was to a tree. "Pack doesn't leave," he snarled. "He... can't control shift. Must learn."

"Then I'll teach him," Stiles insisted, desperately searching for the words that would make Derek understand. " _I'm_ his pack, okay? _I'll_ help him. He can't stay here with you."

Derek's upper lip curled. "You're human. Not wolf. Can't teach."

"Can teach," Stiles countered, never one to walk away from a challenge. " _Will_ teach. You remember what I did for you, huh? I know a lot about your kind. I know how to help them, and I know how to _hurt_ them. Do you understand?"

Derek full-on snarled at that, his hands coming up to fist in the human's shirt. "You. Will. Kill. Him," he said, pronouncing each word with emphasis. "Hunters cannot teach shift. Only how to kill."

"I'll kill _you_ if you don't back off!" Stiles yelled back, his voice breaking slightly beneath the weight of his fear. "He's my _friend_! I'd never hurt him!"

Derek didn't move at first, too busy analyzing the human's reactions-- everything about him told Derek that he was telling the truth; he would never hurt Scott. Derek narrowed his eyes, but slowly released Stiles's shirt, taking one step back. "He comes back," he said finally. For all that he was insistent that Scott was pack, Derek knew that it would only bring trouble if a hunter kid was to simply disappear from the town. Hunters were suspicious and reactive-- they rarely stopped to think, or to ask questions, to try to find the truth. "I teach him. Not you. Hunters don't know everything wolves must know."

"Okay," Stiles agreed shakily. "Okay. But we have to leave now. Yes?"

Derek glanced at Scott, who nodded. "Tomorrow," he said firmly. "Come back tomorrow."

Stiles wasn't going to wait around for the alpha to change his mind. He grabbed Scott's elbow and hauled him out of the clearing.

***

True to their word, Stiles and Scott came back the next day. Derek was waiting for them in the clearing, and when Stiles had tried to follow Scott into the clearing, he'd growled and stepped in front of the teenager. "Watch for others," he said firmly before turning to Scott.

The first thing he did was help Scott shift back and forth several times, until he knew what the shift and its preceding signs felt like, so that he could shift on command. That was all they worked on that first day; it took them several hours just to get the hang of that. Before they left, though, Derek spoke to them. "Scott must stay with me for full moon. First is hardest. He will lose control if he is not with pack."

Stiles was happy to agree. He'd seen how well Derek worked with Scott, how he seemed to genuinely care about helping him, and Derek was definitely the expert in this situation. "Okay," he said, "but I want to be here, too."

"No." Derek fixed the human with a stern look. "Too dangerous. You know betas. Scott will be almost as dangerous. He kills you, kills all of us."

Stiles nodded seriously; he'd already considered this, of course. "So we should tie him up or something. I already have some chains that should hold him; I can bring them, and--"

" _No!_ " Derek roared, barely resisting the urge to pounce on the human for threatening his pack like that. "No! He does not need to be tied-- no wolf does. Only needs pack, and alpha."

"All right, all right!" Stiles cried, backing away. "I won't be there, but only if Scott's okay with that."

rek pulled himself back under control carefully before he turned to Scott, looking at the beta questioningly. Scott nodded, and Derek turned back to Stiles. "I will protect him," he swore. "He is pack-- Pack protects each other."

Stiles nodded, a little overwhelmed by the fierce light in Derek's eyes. "I'm starting to get that," he said.

Derek nodded satisfactorily, and stepped back. "You should go," he said after a moment. "Almost dark."

Stiles nodded again and led Scott away. As they reached the end of the clearing he hesitated and, without really knowing why, turned back to Derek. "Thank you," he murmured. "For helping us."

Derek was surprised by the thanks, and it showed on his face. Still, he nodded in acknowledgement before shifting to wolf and going for a run; he needed food.

***

The full moon fell upon them quickly, but even so, Stiles was sure they were ready. Scott had blossomed under Derek's tutelage and could now control his shift even under stress. Tonight would be the ultimate test, but Scott would pass, Stiles just knew it.

He returned home shortly before nightfall, having spent the day in the Preserve with Scott and Derek. Stiles and Scott had impressed upon the alpha the importance of keeping a low profile tonight, and Derek had promised to keep them both safe. Now all Stiles had to look forward to was a night of sleepless worrying until he could rejoin them in the morning. At least he would be alone - except there was his father, standing in the hallway as though he'd been waiting for Stiles to get home. 

"Dad!" Stiles tried his best to smile, to act natural. "You're home. I thought you were patrolling tonight."

"Davis switched me," the sheriff said, studying Stiles intently. "We haven't had a night to ourselves in a while. Thought we could use one tonight." That, and the sheriff was hoping to get a read on what Stiles and Scott were up to when they disappeared after their lessons.

Stiles blanched. "But it's the full moon," he protested. "Isn't it all hands on deck?"

"We haven't seen any signs of wolves since we took out those last three," the sheriff answered. "Besides, everyone knows their jobs. If I'm needed, I'll be called in."

Stiles knew it would be suspicious if he pushed much harder, so he allowed himself to relax into a grin. "Well, that's great! Yeah, spending some time together would be nice."

The sheriff grinned. "See, I have good ideas sometimes," he teased, ruffling Stiles's hair as he passed.

***

Derek continued training Scott for the next month; he'd done well on the full moon, but Derek wasn't ready to let him spend the next one in town yet. Scott was still having trouble with holding onto his anchor-- or at least, he was until he and Allison started going steady. Then, Scott's control was impeccable. Derek didn't like that Scott's anchor was his hunter girlfriend, but he didn't really have a leg to stand on-- his anchor was anger, one that was just as unstable as a relationship. Still, Scott progressed steadily, and after his second successful full moon, Derek gave him permission to spend the next one in town. That night, Scott talked to Stiles as they were readying themselves; Stiles was going to spend the night with Scott at Scott's house, since Melissa was working the night shift.

"I want you to kill Derek for me."

Stiles blanched, and whirled around to stare at Scott. "You want me to _what?_ "

"Kill Derek," Scott repeated impatiently. "I can't do it myself, he's stronger than me, and he'd know I was going to do it. So you have to."

"But _why?_ "

Scott looked at Stiles like he was stupid. "He's a _wolf,_ Stiles. We're hunters. We kill wolves. I can control myself now, so there's no reason for him to still be alive."

Stiles didn't know what to say. He knew that Scott was right; Derek had proven useful, but he was still a werewolf, he was still dangerous. But what did that make Scott? How were they supposed to keep Scott from becoming like Derek without his help?

Then again, maybe they'd already done that. Scott seemed to think so. Stiles couldn't say no without isolating himself as a human with werewolf sympathies. Even as a werewolf himself, Scott still hated them, and Stiles still thought of him as human. He sighed. "Okay," he said. "I'll kill him."

Scott nodded. "Good."

***

Even then, Stiles had tried to stall for as long as possible. He brought up the myth about a wolf killing the alpha that turned it, but Scott shot that down straight away; Derek had already proved that he wouldn't allow Scott to violate the pack bonds. At last, Stiles found himself backed into a corner, and the next day he waited until his dad left to oversee some training in the arena before making his way into the Preserve. 

Stiles had brought his rifle each time they'd met Derek, but this time it felt unusually heavy as he drew close to the den; his heart felt heavier still. Despite being a skilled almost-hunter, he honestly had no idea which of them would walk away from this.

Something was different; there was only one set of footsteps approaching the den, and the scent carried to Derek on the breeze identified the person as Stiles. By the time the teenager entered the clearing, Derek was waiting for him in beta form. "Where's Scott?" he demanded, a frisson of worry skittering down his spine. "Is he all right?"

Stiles shifted uncomfortably. He should just shoot Derek now, while he felt safe and was at his most vulnerable, but he couldn't bring himself to raise his gun. Instead, he found himself blurting out, "He sent me here to kill you."

Derek jerked back a step; if he'd been in alpha form, his ears would have been flattened against his head. "What? Why?" Derek hated how confused-- _weak_ \-- he sounded, but he'd really thought that Scott was getting better about being a wolf-- about being pack.

Stiles struggled not to melt, and fought hard to regain his hard, hunter mentality, but he failed. No matter what happened here, Derek deserved an explanation. "He doesn't think he needs you anymore," Stiles confessed. "He'd do it himself if he could."

Derek actually let out a pained whine at that-- and with Stiles's words, and the truth behind them that Derek could hear in his heartbeat, Derek could _feel_ the tentative pack bond between him and Scott fraying to the breaking point; the only thing keeping it from severing completely was the fact that Derek had been the one to bite and turn Scott. They would always be connected through that.

Derek backed away from Stiles, though he knew it wouldn't make much difference if the hunter decided to shoot him. "What are you waiting for, then?" he asked dully. "I won't stop you." To be honest, Derek thought that death would be better than to live knowing that he's let yet _another_ packmate down, that he couldn't help his pack the way that alphas are supposed to.

Stiles acted on autopilot, raising the gun and taking aim. If he pulled the trigger now, he would shoot Derek in the heart; he'd be dead before he hit the ground. But Stiles' finger trembled around the slim curve of metal. He took a breath, steadying himself, and then made the mistake of raising his gaze to meet Derek's. 

The intention had been to look the alpha in the eyes as he killed him, to take responsibility for his actions, but it was this acknowledgement that broke him. Derek looked... _shattered_. Stiles lowered the gun.

"I can't," he whispered, squeezing his eyes tight shut. "I can't."

Derek swallowed, hard. "Okay," he mumbled. "Then what do we do now? You can't lie to him."

Stiles balked. He hadn't thought of that, hadn't thought of anything besides the strong, instinctive _no_ that pulsed through him at the thought of killing Derek. "I can," he said, making up a plan on the fly. "He trusts me; he probably won't even ask if I followed through when I get back. And you can get away from here; you can run and we won't ever see you again. Unless..."

"Unless _what?_ " Derek demanded, his voice harsh. "Unless I want to stay? I don’t have any other choice, Stiles. I can't leave Boyd."

"That wasn't what I was going to say," Stiles snapped, flustered, but then-- "What? Who's Boyd?"

"My beta," Derek answered shortly. "Only other pack I have. What _were_ you going to say?"

"That we still need your help," Stiles answered, taken aback. "Scott isn't ready to do this on his own, we both know that, and now it's up to me to help him. But I--I can't. Not without you." It was painful to admit, but it was also true. Stiles could see now that he didn't know the first thing about werewolves, despite what he'd been raised to believe. "So if I keep the hunters away from you, maybe you and-- and Boyd? Could teach me."

Derek bared his teeth. "Boyd won't be much help, not stuck in that _arena_ you hunters put him in. And why should I help Scott, when he wants me dead?"

 _Oh Jesus,_ Stiles thought desperately. He changed tack. "Okay. Forget everything you just said. _I_ need your help. Not Scott, _me_. I want to understand why you're so different than what I was raised to think. You're nothing like you're supposed to be, and if all werewolves are like you, or-- or have the potential to be, then I need to understand." He took a deep breath and met Derek's gaze. "I need to understand so I can help you get your pack back."

Derek studied Stiles intently for a moment. "Why?" he asked finally. "I am wolf. You're hunter. Hunters kill and trap wolves, and have always done so. They don't care about knowing. Why do you?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Because I'm a lot more open-minded than most hunters," he stated. "I know a good m-- person when I see one, wolf or not. And you've already shown me so much; I just need to see a little more."

Derek frowned. "Why should I show you? If I do, you could use it to kill more wolves."

"Look at me," Stiles said, suddenly desperate for Derek to believe him. "Listen to my heartbeat. Whatever you show me, I won't use it against you or your kind."

There was no skip in the human ' heartbeat. He meant it, but Derek still hesitated before agreeing. "But I decide what I will and won't tell you. I've had enough of being betrayed."

Stiles' expression softened. He couldn't argue with that. "Fine by me, Derek," he murmured. 

Derek nodded. "Come back tomorrow," he said. He needed some time to himself before he could even think of sharing secrets with this hunter; needed the time to reorient himself to omega status.

***

Stiles didn't say anything to Scott when he got back to town, and as predicted, Scott didn't ask. There was a saying about assuming and asses, and Stiles had no doubt that this situation would come back to bite both of them in that general vicinity, but he didn't care; he knew he was doing the right thing, for Scott and for Derek.

He went back to the Preserve the next day under the pretext of doing some training on his own, and somehow was completely unsurprised to find Derek there in wolf form. "Uhh, hey," he said awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. For the first time, Stiles had left his gun behind, and he felt oddly off-balance without it. "How's it going?"

Derek didn't do anything for a moment, just stared at Stiles, unblinking. Eventually, he shrugged one shoulder before shifting to beta form. "What have you been taught?" he asked, getting straight to the point.

Stiles couldn't hide a wince; Derek wouldn't like this. "That all werewolves are feral and dangerous," he answered. "That they should be killed, or they'll kill us."

Derek snorted, unsurprised. "What did they teach you about how to kill us? Did they teach you the different wolfsbanes, all of that stuff?"

Stiles shrugged and nodded. "Yeah, we know a lot about that stuff. The different strains, the ones that irritate, the ones that poison, the ones that kill more or less instantly." He sighed. "Believe it or not, the kind I shot you with was one of our milder mixtures."

Derek rolled his eyes. "Milder, my ass," he retorted. Still, he thought for a moment. "And trapping? What do you know about that?"

"Generally that's not a thing we do," Stiles admitted. "Unless we find betas that are young enough to use for training. Then we have tranqs made from mistletoe."

Derek couldn't help the sneer that stole over his face. "Training? You mean torture."

Stiles dropped his gaze to the ground. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Derek took a breath; it wasn't fair of him to take out his frustration with the system on the young hunter. He hadn't even been born when it was established. "Well, what, exactly, do you want to learn about wolves?"

"I can't tell you _exactly_ ," Stiles pointed out, "because I don’t know what there is to learn. But..." He glanced around, and then back up at Derek. "I want to learn about you. Do you know what it was like before the humans found out about you? Did werewolves have a culture; do you still? How did you grow up? Did you ever know your family? How did you become an alpha, or were you born one? Where did Boyd come from? And," he stopped himself abruptly, and flushed. "Whatever you want to tell me, really."

Derek sighed and moved to a less-rocky area of the clearing, folding himself down into a more comfortable position and indicating that Stiles should do the same. "Wolves have always had their own culture," he began. "The biggest part of it was trying to stay hidden. Humans always feared us, always tried to kill us, so we stayed in the shadows. You know how that changed. The most powerful and influential alphas thought that maybe humans had matured enough, would believe them when they promised that, aside from a few isolated incidents, wolves weren't dangerous. That didn't work out so well; most humans don't care about trying to understand things and people that are different, they only care about making them conform or killing them if they don't." Stiles' mouth twisted down at one corner, and he nodded. He'd seen for himself just how blinkered humans could be. "We would have gone back into hiding ourselves, if the humans hadn't forced us out." Derek was quiet for a moment. "My family was one of the most powerful packs in the United States; we'd been here since Lewis and Clarke. We were well-respected, rarely had trouble with the humans, and that never changed for almost eighty years, until the Argents came. The eldest daughter, Katherine, was... Well, we could all but smell the crazy on her, and we stayed even further from the town, not wanting to catch her attention. But she was relentless; she found us, trapped us, and tried to burn us alive. I was the only one to escape. After that, more wolves came to Beacon Hills, trying to take our territory; this land is full of supernatural energy, always has been. Wolves and other things are stronger here than almost anywhere else on Earth. Whoever controls this land controls that energy."

By the end of this, Stiles' mouth was hanging open. "I'm so sorry," he murmured, and his hand made this abortive movement like he wanted to reach out to Derek but thought better of it. He swallowed hard. "I remember that. I was only young, and it was right around the time my mom died, but I remember thinking it was awful to just wipe out an entire family like that. My dad told me I was just too young to understand."

Derek snorted. "Just because we're different, doesn't mean we don't feel pain like humans do," he grunted. "I was on my own for a while, until another pack came into the preserve and the alpha challenged me. I beat him and got his pack-- Boyd and two other betas."

Stiles nodded. "Is that how you became an alpha?" he asked.

Derek shook his head. "Alpha power can be passed through killing or bloodlines-- My mom was the alpha, and when she died..."

"So it's a biological thing," Stiles surmised, impressed. "That explains you're the only alpha anyone's seen in years. If we wiped out their packs, there'd be no one left to inherit the... alphaness?" He winced. "I'm gonna help you get Boyd back, okay?"

Derek looked at Stiles in surprise. "What?"

"Not-- not right now," Stiles said. "Not yet. But I think it's the least I can do."

Derek didn't say anything, unsure whether or not to believe the human. After a long silence, he said, "Wolves need anchors. Packs. We're strong, but we need something to keep that strength in check. Even an omega with an anchor isn't as strong as a wolf in a pack. That's why I didn't want Scott on his own-- I was hoping he'd bond with me, so that he could control himself better. Without a pack, if he loses his anchor..."

"I'm working on it," Stiles promised. "He'll come around eventually, I know he will. Right now he's too blinded by prejudice, but it won't last." He hesitated, thinking. "Omegas are the weakest members of the pack, right? Like, the females?"

Derek shook his head. "Omegas are lone wolves, wolves without packs. Wolves don't discriminate between genders."

Stiles' eyes widened. This was yet another thing the humans had misjudged. "But you're an alpha," he said slowly. "So what does that mean for you?"

"Technically, I have a pack-- Boyd. But he's only one beta; a pack is an alpha and at least three betas. So yes, I'm also an omega."

That was actually a little difficult for Stiles to wrap his head around. He couldn't understand how the strongest kind of werewolf could also be the weakest. He shook his head as if to clear it, and changed the subject. "So how long until Scott loses his shit without a pack?"

Derek shrugged. "It depends on his anchor. If he loses Allison, then he'll be much more likely to lose control sooner. If she sticks with him, then he'll have a better chance, but still not as good as with a pack."

Stiles nodded. "I'll talk to him. Try and bring him round."

***

"So you've been gone a lot, lately," Scott commented, focusing on the screen in front of him where he was desperately trying to beat Stiles's avatar to the finish line. "Hardly ever see you at the arena." There was also an odd scent around Stiles most days, now, but Scott couldn't quite place it.

Stiles froze, and as a result had to watch as his own avatar fell by the wayside while Scott's sailed to victory. "Goddamn it!" he cursed, "Best outta five!" and then he remembered what Scott had said. "You don't gotta read too much into it; we both know I'm not going to graduate based on my skills in the arena, impeccable though they are. I've been in the Preserve, working on my tracking."

"Uh-huh," Scott said, bringing up the requested rematch. "Why can't you just practice your tracking in the arena? When you graduate, then you can practice in the Preserve. You won't graduate if you get caught."

Stiles shrugged. "Practical application of knowledge, man," he argued. "Being able to do it in the arena is one thing, but graduating won't mean jack shit if I can't do it in the real world."

Scott hummed thoughtfully; Stiles's heartbeat was steady, but Scott's gut told him it wasn't the whole truth. Still, he let it go; maybe Stiles was still just obsessed with his 'find an Alpha' scheme. "Well, just be careful. You know how easily things can go to shit."

Stiles raised his eyes heavenward; he knew only too well. But he didn't say that, instead opting to reach over and ruffle Scott's hair. "You worry too much," he teased. "But I'll be careful, I promise."

Scott scowled and fixed his hair. "You better," he mumbled.

***

Stiles took Scott's advice, but not in the way it was intended. He didn't return to the Preserve for several days in favour of heading into the arena and doing his thing. It didn't take much to convince Scott that everything was fine, and it didn't hurt to make sure that Lydia didn't best his scores in absolutely _everything_ ; he may have been in love with her, but that didn't mean he had to let her win. Once he'd done enough to make her sweat, Stiles called it golden and gave himself permission to spend some more time in the Preserve.

He finally returned to the den almost a week after he'd last left it, only to be greeted by a very pissed-looking Derek.

The first two days Stiles didn't return, Derek wasn't too worried; he probably had some things to take care of, and Derek knew that, as a werewolf that Stiles _wasn't_ trying to kill, he wasn't very high on Stiles' s list of priorities. The third day, Derek started getting worried; by the time Stiles finally showed back up, Derek had switched to suspicious and bordering on furious.

He was waiting for Stiles in beta form, and when Stiles stepped into the clearing, Derek advanced on him, a growl rumbling out of him. "Where have you been?" he snarled.

Stiles stopped dead, his hands raised in supplication. "I had to spend some time in the arena," he blurted quickly. "Scott was starting to get suspicious and my dad was keeping an eye on me; I had to play their game. I'm sorry."

The mention of the arena brought Derek up short. He recovered quickly however, and demanded, "The arena? Did you see Boyd?"

"I did," Stiles answered. "I was kind of put up against him a few times. But I went easy on him; he's okay."

Derek still bared his teeth despite the teenager’s supplication. "Other hunters won't, " he growled.

Stiles reached out to him. "Easy," he soothed. "I know it's not much consolation, but they can't do too much to him. They need him healthy if they want to use him for training. He might not be free or particularly happy, but he's safe."

Derek didn't move away from Stiles's outstretched hands, but it was a near thing. "That's not much comfort," he muttered.

"I know," Stiles said softly, letting his hands drop. "But it's the best I can offer right now."

Derek huffed out a breath. "I know," he murmured, taking a moment to collect himself. After a few moments of silence, Derek asked, "Did you come up with any new questions?"

Stiles smiled. "Not for today," he answered. "Except, what do you do for fun?"

The question caught Derek off-guard. "Fun?" he echoed. "Werewolves don't really do fun. We're usually too busy trying not to get caught or killed." Derek hesitated, unsure of whether he trusted Stiles enough to show him where Derek went to feel safe, connected to his family, but then decided that he did. "Follow me." So saying, Derek shifted back to alpha form and loped off into the bushes.

Stiles was a little taken aback, but he didn't hesitate to follow.

***

Derek led Stiles through the woods to a giant tree stump-- what was left of the Nemeton after wolves had been discovered. Talia's grandmother, who was the Alpha at the time, had ordered it to be chopped down, in an effort to stem the supernatural energy surrounding Beacon Hills, in the hopes that the wolves here would remain undiscovered. It had worked, but only for a short time. However, the Nemeton was in the middle of the Preserve, and thus Derek's territory; it was his place, the closest thing he had to a true home.

He shifted back to beta form while waiting for Stiles to catch up; once the human did, Derek stepped forward to lay a hand on the stump. "This is the Nemeton," he said.

Stiles blinked. "It's a tree stump."

"It used to be the... container, I guess, for the supernatural energy. It was the beacon that gave Beacon Hills its name."

"Seriously?" Stiles asked, suddenly eager. "That's so cool. We never learn anything about that stuff."

"Probably because the Nemeton was a good thing, until hunters corrupted it," Derek mused. "It protected Beacon Hills, made it a safe place for the supernatural."

Stiles could hear the almost reverent tone with which Derek spoke, and it made him more curious than the Nemeton itself ever could. "So what does it mean to you?" he asked. "You, specifically."

It took Derek several minutes to sort out his feelings for the Nemeton-- they were so complex and tangled that he wasn't entirely certain that he could. "Family, strength, and choice."

Stiles smiled softly and took a step closer to Derek. "So this place meant a lot to your family?"

Derek nodded. "My pack founded Beacon Hills, as a sanctuary for the supernatural. The Nemeton protected us, until a Darach corrupted it, made it turn against us. That was when my great-grandmother ordered the tree to be cut down."

"It's amazing that you know so much about your heritage," Stiles mused. "I get why this place is special to you. Thank you for showing me."

Derek looked at Stiles with a raised eyebrow. "Why wouldn't I?" he asked, his voice cool. "We may live in the woods but we are not animals."

Stiles hesitated, stung. "I know that," he said defensively. "I just-- A lot of _our_ heritage has been lost in the... in the war." He averted his gaze. "I wasn't calling you an animal."

Derek's expression softened. "I know," he murmured. "But when we've been driven from our homes, and forced to live outside of the rest of the world for so long, wolves only have but so much to cling to, to keep ourselves human and from becoming the monsters hunters expect us to be."

Stiles nodded. "I get that," he promised. "And I still think you're amazing."

Derek did his best to not smile at the pleasant warmth that spread through him at Stiles's words; he got the feeling he didn't exactly succeed.

***

The sheriff cornered Stiles a few days later. "You're coming with us on the next patrol," he stated, his voice brooking no room for argument. "You haven't been going to the arena as much as the rest of the kids; when I talked to Scott, he said you've been practicing your tracking in the Preserve. You wanna get out there so bad, you're coming with us."

Stiles felt like his insides had turned to ice. So much for being able to trust Scott. "Okay," he said slowly. "Are we tracking anything in particular?"

"Eastern border patrol found a kill near the Preserve boundary-- a beta kill. We're going into the preserve to see if we can track down the wolf." The sheriff wondered about the look on Stiles's face; any other time he'd jump at the chance to go into the Preserve on an official patrol.

Stiles swallowed. He could do this; he could do what was expected of him and steer the party away from Derek at the same time. He forced a grin onto his face. "Sounds great; I'm in!"

***

Derek had been out hunting when he first caught Stiles' s scent drifting on a breeze. He'd half-smiled, only for the expression to morph into a snarl when he got the next whiff-- Stiles wasn't out here alone. Shifting to alpha form, Derek slowly, carefully started making his way towards the hunters-- he had to see how Stiles acted with them.

Derek found them along the edge of the Preserve; there were seven of them all together, and Derek couldn't completely suppress his snarl as he recognized the scent of two of the men who'd attacked him and taken Boyd. The alpha followed them for a while, careful to avoid any brush that would give away his presence while he tried to ascertain the hunters' purpose behind theirs.

Perhaps it was because he had younger, more keen senses, or because he knew there was something to find where the adults didn't, but Stiles was suddenly aware that they were no longer alone. "Dad?" he called, his voice overloud. "Dad, I think I heard something up there." He pointed into the trees, his back to where he knew Derek was lurking. 

Derek froze, crouching down in the bushes as the sheriff turned and looked back at his son before nodding and signalling to a couple of the men to step off that way. "Keep your eyes peeled, boys-- remember that last pack we rooted out," he called, and Derek's lips pulled back in another snarl-- he wanted nothing more than to attack these puny _humans_ who had invaded _his_ territory, but Stiles was with them. Derek wouldn't risk Stiles getting hurt, and he trusted Stiles not to give him away.

Stiles hung back, waiting until the rest of the group were out of earshot before turning and marching in the opposite direction. "I know you're there," he hissed into the gloom. "Why are you following us?"

Derek shifted. "They're hunters," he growled. "You, I trust. The others I don't. Especially not the two oldest men."

"One of those men is my father," Stiles snapped defensively. "But I'm not going to let them mess anything else up, okay? So back off."

Derek bared his teeth. "I still don't trust them. I will follow."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Fine," he sighed. "But stay out of the way."

***

Derek had to admit that Stiles had done a good job with directing the patrol-- they hadn't gone anywhere near Derek's den, nor had they caught onto the fact that Derek was trailing them(although Derek attributed that to his skills more than Stiles's). But it wasn't like Derek was going to just _admit_ that Stiles was right. He was an alpha, and he had his pride.

Still, that didn't stop him from presenting Stiles with a freshly-killed rabbit the next time the young hunter showed up outside Derek's den.

Stiles froze, staring down at the bloody mass at his feet. Derek, in his alpha form, stood proudly beside his kill, looking up at him expectantly, and Stiles gagged a little. "Holy shit," he choked. "I'll come back when you're done eating."

Derek huffed and used his nose to nudge the carcass closer to Stiles. _Stupid human,_ he thought, but even in his head it didn't sound cross.

"What?" Stiles snorted. "It's not for me." When Derek just continued to look at him, his jaw dropped. "It's for _me_?"

Derek huffed, rolling his head in the canine version of an eye roll before nodding. _Took him long enough,_ Derek thought, amused.

Stiles laughed, high and nervous. "Thanks, buddy, but I already ate."

Derek's huff was indignant this time, and he shifted. "Just take the damn rabbit," he growled. "It's a gift." Apology, really, but Derek wasn't going to admit to that.

Stiles gaped. "A gift," he repeated flatly, but he bent down all the same and wrapped the rabbit until it could be carried. Once it was stowed away in his bag, he straightened up. "Thanks, I guess?"

Derek just smiled smugly, his wolf inordinately pleased that Stiles had accepted his gift.

***

It got to be a common occurrence after that. Some days there wouldn't be a kill waiting for Stiles when he arrived, but just as often, there was. Eventually Stiles had just started cooking and eating them there in the clearing; he couldn't be coming home so often with kills that were obviously made with teeth rather than bullets or arrows.

One day, however, Derek wasn't waiting for Stiles with a kill. Instead, he was waiting in beta form; a rare occurrence since his alpha form was more powerful and would allow him to escape more easily if there were other hunters than just Stiles around. When Stiles arrived, Derek moved towards him a bit hesitantly. He'd gotten to know the hunter fairly well over the past few months, and lately he even _liked_ him, annoying as the human could be. "I want to show you something," he said, looking at Stiles hopefully.

The look on Derek's face was one Stiles hadn't seen before, and it intrigued him even more than the mystery on offer. He gave Derek an encouraging smile. "Sure."

Relieved, Derek shifted back to alpha form and led the way into the forest. 

***

It took about an hour to reach the destination that Derek had in mind. The first thing to come into view was an old, desecrated forest stump that had once been the Nemeton. The years had helped to disintegrate the ruined stump even further than the destruction that Derek's grandmother and her pack had originally wrought. The stump itself wasn't Derek's destination, however. He was headed for the root cellar.

The cellar had been built when the Hales had first moved to the area; it had been established as a safe house, at the source of their territory's power. No hunter or creature intending harm to a Hale or a member of their pack would be able to find the cellar and thus the wolves taking refuge within. That protection still stood, even with the corruption that Gerard Argent had managed to bring to the Nemeton. Derek had brought Stiles here as the last test-- if he could find the root cellar, then Derek could trust him: he would know without a doubt that Stiles meant no harm to him or his pack.

The root cellar was situated to the east side of the stump; the opening could be seen from where they stood at the southern end. "What do you see?" Derek asked.

Stiles frowned at Derek. Was this some kind of trick question? "It's a root cellar," he said slowly.

"I see the place that's been more harmful than helpful in the past eighty years," Derek replied softly. "What I want to show you is in the cellar; come on."

Stiles just shrugged and followed. 

Derek led Stiles down the steps and around, under the heart of the Nemeton, where he'd kept the few things he had from before his pack was burned. What he was looking for, however, wasn't his mother's claws or his sister's locket-- he was looking for the small bracelet that Paige had worn to the day she died.

He carefully removed it from its spot and then showed it to Stiles. "This belonged to Paige," he said quietly. "Her pack was destroyed by hunters, and she came to the Preserve because she believed she would be safe here. The Nemeton may have been poisoned, but we were still a strong pack. It's why we survived until Kate."

Stiles nodded, looking at the bracelet closely but not trying to touch. Something told him Derek wouldn't like that. "You offered her protection?" he asked quietly. 

Derek nodded. "Yes. She lived with us for several months. I was... We were going to mate."

Stiles' eyes widened. "Now, before I put my foot in it, does that just mean sex?" he asked. "Because we're taught that that's a for-life kind of deal."

”One of the things hunters got right," Derek murmured. "We never got the chance though. She got caught in a wolfsbane trap, and it wasn't a fatal poison. It was a strain meant for torture. It showed no signs of weakening after a week, and... She asked me to make it stop."

"She asked you to kill her?" Stiles breathed, horrified. "Did you?"

Derek sighed. "What else could I do?" he asked, his voice small. He hadn't let himself think of Paige in a long time. "She was in so much pain, and we had no way of getting the wolfsbane out of her..."

"You did the right thing," Stiles interrupted, his voice soft but firm. "You loved her, and she needed you, and you did the right thing."

Derek was quiet for a moment. "That's what I've been telling myself ever since," he replied eventually. "I've only really started to believe it recently." Derek fiddled with the bracelet in his hands, running one claw over the cool metal. "And that's because of you."

"Because of me?" Stiles asked quickly. "What did I do?"

"You helped Scott," he said finally. "Instead of turning him in. And you didn't kill me or turn me in when Scott decided he didn't need me anymore. For some reason, you decided that I'm good enough to keep alive, and that made me think... Maybe I'm not such a monster, for helping Paige the way she asked me to."

Stiles moved a little closer and reached out to touch not the bracelet, but Derek's hand. "You're not a monster at all," he murmured. 

Derek carefully turned his hand to clasp his fingers around Stiles's. "Thank you," he said softly.

***

After that, the 'gifts' came a lot more frequently. It was now a weird day when Derek _didn't_ have a dead animal waiting when Stiles arrived. Stiles still wasn't sure what Derek's deal was, but he was more inclined to bring his own vegetables along than to complain. The food was good, and even though he sometimes had to eat lunch twice if his dad was around before he left, it was worth it to know that Derek was eating at least one decent meal a day.

It was also worth it to know that Derek... cared. At least, that was how Stiles was choosing to interpret the gifts. After Derek had explained about Paige, he'd become a lot more open with Stiles, like he'd passed some test and was now allowed access to Derek's knowledge and secrets and sometimes just his thoughts. The trust that Derek placed in him now was truly astounding, and Stiles felt humbled each time they bypassed a 'lesson' for a day spent exploring Derek's favourite parts of the Preserve. Things were so good between them now that Stiles didn't dare risk it just to ask some innocuous questions about Derek's behavior. 

Still, when Stiles woke up one morning and found a dead deer on his porch, he decided he had to say something. The free meals Derek seemed set on gifting him with would not be so free if Stiles' dad got suspicious, and this? Was guaranteed to make him suspicious. Stiles dealt with the deer as best he could and then set off into the Preserve.

"What the _hell_ were you thinking?" Stiles was yelling before he'd even reached the den. "Leaving that right in front of the house where anyone could see, like my _dad_! Do you _want_ him to come after you? Do you--"

Derek's snarl cut Stiles off. "That wasn't me," he hissed. "It was some damned omega trying to get _rid_ of me." Derek had to bite back a whimper of pain-- when he'd chased down the omega, it had tripped a wire that set off several darts tipped with wolfsbane; one of them had embedded itself in Derek's thigh. He was trying to dig it out himself with his claws, but that wasn't working out too well at the moment. "I'm not stupid, Stiles."

"Well I--" Stiles began, still full of righteous indignation, but he cut himself off when Derek's words sank in. "Oh." His gaze flitted over Derek's body, tracking down to where claws were digging into a hairy thigh. There was blood _everywhere_. "What the fuck are you doing? Stop that!" Stiles surged forwards, his hands outstretched. 

"I have to get it out," Derek growled, but he removed his fingers and let Stiles get a look.

Stiles held Derek's hand out of the way and peered at the wound. "Is that-- is that one of our darts?" he asked, wincing. "Okay, you're going about this all wrong. Will you let me..?"

Derek didn't hesitate before nodding and shifting so that Stiles could see what he was doing.

Stiles dug in his bag for the flask of alcohol that every hunter carried and poured some over his hands before getting to work. He kept up a running commentary as he went, mostly to distract himself from the fact that he had his fingers _inside_ Derek's leg, but also so that Derek would know what to do if this happened again. When the dart at last slid free, both were panting with the effort and Stiles had blood up to his elbow. "Be more careful next time, yeah?" he asked, dropping the dart onto the ground in favour of splashing more alcohol into the wound. "You gonna be okay?"

Derek gritted his teeth and examined the wound. "Think so," he said finally. "Thanks."

"Anytime." Stiles sat back and examined his bloody hand. "But don't take that as an excuse to get yourself hurt all the time. That's not what I mean." He sighed, and cut his gaze to Derek. "You said there was another omega?"

Derek nodded, chastised. "He wanted the Preserve, the Nemeton. He's been here a while, but I could never catch him, and he didn't come near the den, so I didn't think..." Derek sighed. "He wanted to send a message, get the hunters really riled up."

"Well, he certainly riled me," Stiles joked weakly. "You want me to tell my dad, send the hunters after him? I can make sure they don't find you."

Derek's smirk was exceedingly toothy. "I already took care of it."

"Oh." Stiles relaxed, but only slightly. "Is that how you got hurt?"

Derek nodded. "He went through a trip wire. He got the worst of it."

Stiles sighed and looked away. "Please be more careful," he murmured.

Derek looked at Stiles quizzically. "I had to protect my pack and the territory."

Stiles sighed again, a little more sharply this time. "I get that, but you can protect your pack and territory _and_ show some consideration for your own life. You can't protect anything if you're in pieces."

Derek shifted uncomfortably, but he didn't comment. He wasn't exactly sure _why_ it had been so important to chase the omega down and kill them himself, but his wolf had insisted. "I'll remember that for next time," he eventually settled on saying.

Stiles offered Derek a gentle smile. "Thank you."

***

After that, Derek and Stiles seemed to fall into the same easy rhythm, only... it wasn't the same, not exactly. But Derek couldn't figure out what was different, so he ignored it. At least until the day Stiles came to the den and was unusually weird. "What's up?" Derek asked suspiciously. "You're being weird."

Stiles opened his mouth to protest, to insist that Derek was imagining things, but quickly realised that he couldn't. Derek would hear the lie, and it wasn't worth risking the trust they'd managed to build up between them over something like this; something that Derek deserved to know the truth about. "Don't freak out, okay?" he asked instead. "I didn't want to have to tell you this; I've been trying to get them to leave before you found out, but they're not budging and they're actually kind of terrifying." He hesitated, but ultimately forged onwards. "Kate Argent is back in town."

It took an embarrassingly long time for Derek to respond; the simple thought that Kate was back, that that _bitch_ had _dared_ to come to his territory--

Realizing that he was full-on snarling and incredibly close to losing control, Derek forced himself to stop, close his eyes, and take several deep breaths before he even considered replying. "How long?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice level. "How long have they been here, and how long are they planning to stay?"

Stiles answered as promptly as he could. "A little more than a week, and I have no idea. They've been talking to my dad and the rest of the hunters, but I don't know what about." And it wasn't through lack of trying to find out, either. Stiles and his father had nearly come to blows on more than one occasion over the matter.

Stiles's heartbeat confirmed that he was telling the truth, and Derek nodded slowly-- it made sense, after all, that such important guests as the Argents wouldn't want underage hunters listening in on their plans. "Just... Let me know if they threaten Boyd. Or any other wolf in the arena." If the Argents did that, Derek was declaring war. He wouldn't run from the destruction of his new pack; he would fight to the death for them.

Stiles sighed. He could see the fire in Derek's eyes, and he knew there was no use in arguing. "I will," he promised. 

Derek nodded gratefully. "Thank you. And stay out of trouble," he added, letting his voice take on a slight teasing note. "I'm supposed to be the one who's drawing all the suspicion from hunters, not you."

Stiles affected an offended look. "I am not drawing suspicion!" he insisted. "I'm just... curious. In a healthy, non-suspicious way. I don't need to be a werewolf sympathiser to know that Kate is creepy."

Derek didn't say anything for a moment, too busy studying Stiles. "Tell me honestly," he began, "if you didn't know me-- if we hadn't spent the past several months together, and all you knew about Kate was that she had taken out one of the largest and oldest packs in the country, would you still call her creepy? Or would she be a legend, someone to look up to and emulate?"

Stiles' expression softened. "To me? No," he said softly. "She wouldn't be a legend. Other people might think that, but even without knowing you, I'd still see her as a murderer."

Stiles's heartbeat once again told Derek that the teenager meant every word, and Derek nodded, satisfied and reassured.

***

Stiles wasn't able to slip away from the town for quite as long now; with the Argents in town, Derek would have thought the opposite would have been true. Instead, the Argents seemed hellbent on "training" the hunters, but it didn't sound like training to Derek, the way that Stiles described it. It sounded like evaluation, like Kate and Gerard had something planned and were looking for recruits. All this meant, however, was that Derek was even more grateful for the time that Stiles could spare to spend with the alpha; this gratitude showed in the form of yet more freshly-killed woodland creatures that were always waiting for the teenager when he arrived at the den. No, Derek wasn't questioning it; he'd told Stiles many times over that it was instinct, and he wasn't about to argue with instinct.

Even when those same instincts urged Derek to be closer to Stiles physically-- Derek gave into those, too, just... not as whole-heartedly as he had the hunting. He touched Stiles on the shoulder or arm, occasionally thumping him lightly upside the head when he was being annoyingly rambly(rambly? Was that even a word?). With every touch, though, Derek was careful to keep the contact light for fear of startling or accidentally hurting Stiles. He'd never been more aware of or more frustrated with his superhuman strength; all his wolf wanted to do was curl up with Stiles, tuck the teenager away in his den and not let him out.

Derek argued this as his wolf's fear of losing yet another packmate. Which was what Stiles had become over the months; a human packmate. It hadn't seem possible, even though Derek knew that his grandmother's pack had had them for generations before wolves were discovered and forced into hiding. The world had changed so much, Derek had just kind of assumed that humans and wolves would never be able to get along well enough to be anything more than cautious friends; but Stiles was proving him wrong. With each passing day and each touch between the two of them, Derek could all but feel the pack bond strengthening. He was going to have to tell Stiles soon, if the teenaged hunter hadn't already figured it out.

Right now, though, that wasn't what was at the forefront of Derek's mind. What was was the thought of how much he fucking _hated_ drizzles. He could handle full-on thunderstorms, or even showers. But drizzles? No. Those were just annoying. They didn't even do him the courtesy of simply plastering his fur down to his body; the water droplets seemed to follow each individual hair down to his skin, chilling even his over-hearted body further. Plus the dampness made even the slightest breeze bite like an Arctic wind. Contrasts of temperature _sucked._

The rain also didn't do anything to help with Derek's hunting, either-- Stiles would probably show up soon, and Derek's wolf whined at the thought of not having food ready for the human. It seemed imperative that he give Stiles a good meal every time the teenager ventured into the Preserve, and Derek didn't want to fail just because of a little precipitation.

When he finally got to the clearing, he was only carrying two voles and a rabbit-- the only animals that had emerged into the drizzle. Derek set the prey down on a rock just inside the entrance to the den and walked off to one side of the entrance to shake himself off before curling up in his nest at the back, waiting for Stiles's footsteps to approach; Stiles would have to come into the den to make a fire to cook the meat. Derek wasn't exactly looking forward to that, but if it meant the teenager got to eat then Derek would just suck it up.

Derek only had ten minutes to wait before Stiles crawled into the den, damp and slightly dishevelled and carrying the kills Derek had left out for him. The teenager had been doing a lot of research lately, and after three days of trying to talk himself out of the conclusions he'd drawn, he could deny it no longer. He set the surprisingly still warm - _ew, gross_ \- bodies down in front of the alpha and looked him straight in his wolfy face. "Are you providing for me?" he demanded. "Are you _courting_ me?"

Derek froze; he would deny to his dying day(which might be sooner than he liked) that he panicked. After a moment, he shifted to beta form before shrugging. "No?" he hazarded; he hadn't done this for Paige-- but then, Paige had been another wolf, fully capable of providing for herself. Come to think of it, they'd brought each other gifts of food. Maybe Stiles was right.

Stiles saw Derek's uncertainty and he leapt on it. "You are!" he accused. "You're proving that you'd be a good mate! And you didn't even notice!"

Derek made a face-- Why did the human have to be so stinking smart? "Maybe," he conceded sullenly.

Stiles immediately felt bad. Derek really hadn't noticed, which meant that he'd just been following his instincts to keep the person being nice to him around. It wasn't like he actually wanted Stiles that way... right? "It's okay!" Stiles said hastily. "I mean, I'm not mad. You just don't have to - or you can keep doing it, whatever makes you feel better. Nothing has to come of it or anything."

Derek studied Stiles for a moment-- the human's heartbeat and scent were going crazy, but Derek really didn't have the experience necessary to determine _why_. Instead, he settled on shrugging. "Okay," he said carefully.

Stiles smiled, relieved that he hadn't just ruined their friendship with his big mouth, and dug in his bag for a spare knife. "You wanna help me skin these?" he asked hopefully.

Derek eyed the knife doubtfully-- he'd watched Stiles skin the kills he'd brought back before, of course, but he'd never attempted it for himself. "I don't know how," he said after a moment. He tended to just eat his kills raw and deal with picking fur out of his teeth with his claws if he wasn't eating food cooked by Stiles.

Stiles' smile got wider. "Well, maybe it's about time you learned," he suggested, and offered the knife. "Come on, I'll show you."

Derek hesitated for only a heartbeat before taking the knife and scooting closer to watch Stiles better.

***

"Stiles!" Scott hissed, elbowing his friend in the side. "Dude, what the hell's been over you lately? You smell really weird." Like, he was starting to smell as much like a werewolf as Scott did, and _boy_ had that been fun, the first time he'd gone up against one of the betas in the arena.

Normally Scott wouldn't care so much - Stiles did spend a lot of time in the Preserve, after all - but Kate and Gerard Argent were in town, and Scott wanted to get on their good side so that he didn't have to stop seeing Allison. If he could impress them, that would be a huge plus. The Argents were renowned worldwide as some of the best hunters since werewolves were discovered, and Kate was famous for her destruction of the local pack a few years ago.

At the moment, Kate was watching them all spar in the arena against both each other and the betas. She was conferring with her father and Chris Argent and the sheriff as she watched, making notes in a small notepad. It was an open secret that something big was being planned, and Scott wanted in on it.

"Weird how?" Stiles asked distractedly. Scott wasn't the only one keeping an eye on the Argents, but Stiles wasn't trying to impress them; he wanted to know what they were up to.

"Like you've been rolling around in the Preserve with a werewolf," Scott replied, keeping his voice low.

Stiles looked at Scott then, and rolled his eyes. "You know I've been in the preserve a lot, and I've been hanging around _you_. What do you expect me to smell like?"

"I'd expect you to smell like woods and me but you _don't_ ," Scott answered. "You smell like woods and--"

"McCall! You're up; get in the arena and prepare to fight a wolf." That was Chris Argent, and Scott snapped to attention.

"Yes, sir!" he answered, sending Stiles a meaningful look before heading down the bleachers.

***

No matter how much Stiles wanted that to be the end of it, Scott was like a dog with a bone. As soon as they were able to talk again, Scott brought the subject back up, and pushed and pushed until at last Stiles gave in and suggested that maybe he smelled so much like a werewolf because there was a new werewolf in the Preserve. Scott's eyes went wide, and although Stiles insisted that he was dealing with it, impressing the Argents was all Scott could think about.

The very next day, the two boys headed into the Preserve, accompanied by none other than Kate Argent herself. Stiles was trying desperately to hide how much he was freaking out. He hadn't had time to warn Derek, and he was terrified that Kate would be able to track and find him; that Derek would think Stiles had betrayed him. That last part kind of caught Stiles off-guard, but he pushed it to the back of his mind in favour of focusing all of his senses. If they found any sign of Derek, Stiles _had_ to be able to send them in the wrong direction.

Derek was out hunting when he first caught the scent. It took him only a moment to place it, and when he did he couldn't hold back the roar of outrage that escaped him. Kate Argent was back. The sound echoed through the woods, indistinguishable in its source, and Derek shifted into his alpha form and then started tracking.

Stiles stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he heard the roar. There was no doubting that there was a werewolf in the Preserve now, and the thought that Scott would be able to recognise the call of his alpha had Stiles breaking out in a cold sweat. 

Standing beside him, Kate cocked her gun and looked around. "Either of you get an idea of where that came from?" she asked sharply. 

Scott straightened his head from when he'd tilted it; the roar had echoed through the Preserve, and sounded vaguely familiar, but Scott dismissed that for right now. Concentrating, Scott took his best guess as to the direction the call had originated from. "Sounded like it came from the east," he offered, keeping his voice low; the aim would be to try to be as inconspicuous as possible.

Stiles couldn't hide his wince. "Really?" he hedged. "I thought it came from the west."

Scott gave Stiles an odd look; they were behind Kate, who seemed to be focusing on the woods, so Scott didn't think that she saw it. _What?_ he mouthed, frowning; Scott was the secret werewolf here, not Stiles. Why would he contradict Scott?

Stiles ignored him. "Definitely the west," he insisted. "We should go west."

Kate was still squinting into the trees, scanning their perimeter for movement even though the roar sounded like it had come from quite a ways away. Stiles knew from experience that that made no difference; Derek could move fast, could even be watching them right now. "I don't know..." she said slowly, unconvinced. 

Derek wasn't close enough to be watching them, but he was close enough to pick up on the other two scents mingling with Kate's: Stiles's and Scott's. His upper lip curled in a silent snarl as he slowed down, taking his time placing each paw so that he didn't make a single sound as he approached; the only thing that could possibly give him away would be his heartbeat, and considering he, an alpha, could barely hear theirs, it was highly unlikely that Scott would be able to hear his.

Still, Derek was able to hear Scott's next words with perfect clarity: "Stiles, it was east. Trust me, dude, I'm better with tracking sounds than you are."

"Actually, I heard Stiles was the better tracker," Kate said, turning to smirk at them.

Stiles saw his opportunity and jumped on it. "I am! And I say west."

Kate's smirk deepened. "Then we go west."

Derek couldn't help but feel vindictively pleased at the way Kate shut Scott down-- little traitor deserved it-- but then he was also conflicted over feeling _glad_ about Kate doing something. He decided to ignore it in favor of keeping an eye on them; what he wanted to know was why was _Stiles_ out here? He didn't think Stiles would have betrayed him-- but maybe Derek had scared him off with the whole bringing-dead-animals-to-be-cooked thing.

Lost in his thoughts, Derek stepped on a twig which broke with a sharp crack, and Derek swore internally before bounding off in a perpendicular direction, trying to stay as quiet as possible so that Scott wouldn't be able to hear him. He didn't want to think about what would happen if he came face-to-face with both Kate Argent and Scott McCall; he especially didn't want to think about what it would do to Stiles's perception of Derek if the werewolf tore Kate's throat out in front of him.

This time, Stiles didn't have a chance to do damage control. There was no way to mistake where this sound had come from, and Kate was off like a shot, Scott close on her heels. His heart pounding wildly in his chest, Stiles could only follow. 

Kate may have been an experienced hunter and Scott a werewolf, but Derek was an alpha werewolf who'd spent pretty much his entire life in the Preserve; he had the home field advantage, and he made good use of it, leading the hunters on a long, grueling chase until he eventually managed to get outside of even Scott's hearing without leaving any way of being tracked; even his scent was dulled thanks to the recent rain and humidity. Scott hadn't spent enough time practicing his scent tracking to be able to track Derek in conditions like these, but Derek didn't take any chances, making sure to lay down a few different paths before finally daring to return to his den. The next time he saw Stiles, he'd have some questions for the boy.

***

Scott couldn't believe they'd lost the wolf. An omega coming through the Preserve shouldn't have been strong enough to outrun them; the three of them should have easily been able to trap and kill it. So how had it gotten away? And its scent... It was the same scent that was on Stiles so thickly these days, and there was something _familiar_ about it; Scott _knew_ this scent, he just couldn't remember how. Of course, it never occurred to him that the scent could be Derek's; he'd asked Stiles to kill Derek, and Stiles had said he did so. Scott believed him, and had no reason to think that Derek was still alive, and that it was _his_ scent that permeated Stiles's clothing.

It was a conundrum that Scott didn't bother pondering; he had to figure out another way to impress Kate and Gerard now that he'd lost this chance at helping take down this omega.

The Argents were also at the forefront of Stiles' mind. Their failure to catch Derek was proving to be a source of major irritation for Kate, and she hadn't shut up about it since. Whenever Stiles tuned in to her ranting it was to hear another string of colourful curse words as she vented her frustration - but then her tune changed. Suddenly, she was reminiscing about past successes instead, presumably to really drive home how much better than them she'd been when she was closer to their age, and Stiles felt like a lead weight had dropped into the pit of his stomach.

"What's the matter, cutie?" Kate asked when she noticed the look on Stiles' face. "Don't you think you've got it in you? Don't you think you've got the balls to burn a pack alive? Because that's all they deserve, y'know. They're worse than animals. And all you need to prove that is the sounds they make as they burn."

Stiles was ready to be sick. He knew that Kate was talking about the Hales, that she was _still_ getting off on what she'd done to Derek's family. "I-- I'm sorry," he stammered, avoiding both Kate's and Scott's gaze. "I have to go." 

Kate's cruel laughter followed him home. 

***

Before he was allowed to turn in for the night, Stiles' dad told him that there would be patrols sent into the Preserve overnight to try and capture the rogue werewolf. Stiles' world tilted dramatically and it was all he could do to keep his cool until he could get upstairs. What the fuck was he going to do? His dad was home for the night, so he couldn't sneak out and warn Derek, and the patrols were probably already in the Preserve anyway. What would happen if they caught Derek, a mythical alpha? Would they kill him? Put him in the arena? Worse?

The thought was enough to make Stiles' breathing quicken, his heart race in his chest. He couldn't lose Derek; Derek was everything. Derek was... _everything_.

"Oh my God," Stiles breathed, falling heavily into his desk chair. "I'm in love with Derek Hale."

***

Derek got little sleep that night. He may have given Kate and Scott the slip, but they obviously hadn't just given up with that; Derek could hear patrols moving through the Preserve systematically, and it was only through sheer luck that Derek managed to make it to the Nemeton and into the root cellar where none of the hunters would be able to find him. Worry still kept him up, though-- worry and suspicion. That was twice now that Stiles had been on patrols that were trying to capture Derek. What if the human had just been leading him on all this time?

Derek didn't think he could stand that.

***

Stiles had spent the morning dodging Scott. The fruitless patrols of the night before had convinced the hunters that the werewolf must have left the Preserve, but Scott knew better and he was very interested in what Stiles had to say on the matter. As a result, it was way past noon when Stiles finally arrived outside the den, and he was not surprised to find Derek looking more than a little pissed. His knees did go weak with relief, though.

Derek, however, was too busy stalking up to Stiles and shoving the human back into the nearest tree to note the veritable flood of relief in the boy's scent. "What the hell happened?" he snarled. "Why was _she_ in my territory last night?"

Stiles didn't know why he hadn't expected this, but for the first time in a long time he was terrified of Derek. "Because Scott knows, okay?" he spat out, desperate. "He knows something's wrong. He can smell you all over me and I had to tell him _something_ , so I told him I've been tracking a new werewolf, a different one, not you, and he's obsessed with impressing the Argents so he told them. I couldn't do anything about it, I swear."

It took Derek a moment to piece together why Scott would want to get closer to the Argents-- Allison. Derek snarled and backed away from Stiles before he did something to terrify Stiles even more, like put his fist through the tree. As it was, he started pacing, his hands clenching and unclenching. "Why were you with them, then?" he snapped, glaring at Stiles as he passed by him.

"Because Scott told them that I was the one who was tracking the werewolf," Stiles answered. "And I had to be there to keep them away from you!" He thrust out a hand in Derek's direction, and then dropped it with a huff. "You're welcome, by the way."

Derek almost growled that he hadn't needed Stiles's help-- but then again, if Stiles hadn't been there, Derek would have attacked Kate, consequences be damned. The alpha was still pissed at the human, but he had to admit that Stiles had a point. "Fine," he muttered. "Thank you."

Stiles was a little taken aback at the readily-given thanks, and it was enough for him to let his guard down and take a step away from the tree, towards Derek. "Hey," he said softly. "Are you okay?"

Derek huffed out a breath, treating Stiles to a completely unimpressed look. "The hunter who killed my pack and family is back in town and now wants my hide, one of my two pack members is imprisoned and the other one is a hunter who also happens to somehow have become the person I care about most now but who still has to follow hunters' traditions and rules. What do you think?"

Stiles' eyes widened and then narrowed, his mouth opening and closing several times as he tried to work out how to respond to that. In the end, he settled for, "What did you just say?"

And now Derek was confused-- until he mentally repeated what he'd just said and then kicked himself. Still, nothing for it-- Stiles was stubborn; he wouldn't just let it go. "I said, you're pack."

"I'm pack," Stiles repeated tonelessly. "That's not all you said."

Derek tilted his head, and then the rest of it-- and how it had sounded-- hit him. He swallowed, and then shrugged one shoulder. "We've spent a lot of time together, and I no longer want to rip your throat out with my teeth."

Stiles swallowed, hard. "And that's it?" he asked, torn between resignation and suspicion.

Stiles's heartbeat was doing something weird, and Derek hesitated in answering-- but Stiles deserved the truth. "I... No. It's possible those animals weren't just to keep you around."

Stiles stepped back, stunned by his own brilliance. "I knew it," he hissed. "I knew it!"

Derek's expression shuttered when Stiles stepped away from him, and he couldn't help the tension that sprang up in his shoulders, making them hunch forward as he looked away from Stiles. "Yeah," he said, his voice dull. "Guess you did."

"Hey," Stiles said, frowning. "What is that? Why are you closing off from me?"

And now Derek was looking at Stiles like he was stupid. "You backed away from me," he said slowly. "I can take a hint, Stiles." Not to mention the whole being-a-werewolf thing was probably a huge deterrent.

Stiles immediately corrected his mistake, taking a step forwards and then another. "No you can't," he said bluntly. "You really can't."

Now Derek was just plain confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Derek," Stiles sighed, taking another step into Derek's space. "You have to be able to smell it on me. How I... How I feel."

Derek shook his head. "I can't. All I-- That's not really something that wolves can smell. Closest would be... lust, I guess, but I've never smelled that from you. And why would you want me?" he added. "I'm a wolf. A monster."

"That's not true," Stiles argued, without hesitation. He closed the remaining space between them but didn't reach out to touch Derek, not yet. "Being a wolf doesn't make you a monster. Hell, you're a better man than most of the humans I know."

Derek huffed disbelievingly. ''You've only known me for a few months; what makes you think you know me that well?"

"Are you telling me that I don't?" Stiles countered, raising his eyebrows.

Derek shrugged. ''I don't know," he admitted quietly. "Sometimes I think you might know me better than I do."

Stiles took that as his cue to crowd even closer to Derek, until he could feel Derek's soft breaths on his face. "Then trust me," he murmured. "Can you do that?"

Stiles was close enough for his face to be blurry, and Derek hesitated for the briefest moment before doing his eyes and nodding slightly. ''I do," he breathed.

Stiles finally allowed himself to touch then, brought his hand up to Derek's face and gently let his fingers feel out the coarse hair there. "You're not a monster," he whispered, his own eyes closing as he settled his palm against Derek's cheek, and then he brought their lips together. 

Derek froze at the first press of Stiles's lips against his; so this was a kiss. It was odd, but not in a bad way. It took Derek a moment before he relaxed and cautiously brought one hand up to Stiles's face, mirroring the human's position while being mindful of his claws and fangs; the last thing he wanted to do was accidentally hurt Stiles.

Stiles sensed Derek's caution, but he also trusted Derek not to hurt him. He pulled back just a little, his fingers moving up over the slight point of Derek's ear and into his hair, and let out a shaky breath. "It's okay," he murmured soothingly. "It's okay." Because it was. As Stiles moved his lips against Derek's, slowly, tenderly, it wasn't because he was scared of being cut by razor-sharp fangs; it was to show Derek that they could have this, that _he_ could have this, and that it could be good. 

Derek wasn't certain how long they stood like that, in the middle of the clearing just exploring each other's reactions to different actions in the kiss. After a while, Derek pulled back, but he didn't go very far, resting his forehead against Stiles's. "Why?" he asked, his voice betraying just how lost he felt-- why would Stiles feel this way about _him_ , about a werewolf?

"Why not?" Stiles challenged, his voice soft but fierce. "Why do I need a reason?"

Derek swallowed, nervous. "Because... because you're a hunter, and I'm a wolf," he murmured, not daring to open his eyes. "Why would you chose me? I can't-- I can't give you a life, not like any other hunter could."

"Maybe I don't want that," Stiles offered. "Maybe I don't want the kind of life a narrow-minded hunter who gets off on hurting people like you could give me." He sighed, and tightened the fingers he still had in Derek's hair just a fraction. "But what about you? I'm surely more dangerous to you than any wolf could ever be, and I brush elbows with the people who killed your family every day. Why would _you_ choose _me_?"

"Because you're good," Derek answered. "You're good to me, and you're good for me."

"Well, so are you," Stiles whispered. "Maybe you can't see it, but I can. That's why."

Derek didn't say anything for several long moments, and then all he said was, "Okay."

***

Things were a bit odd for the rest of that day, but it was surprisingly easy after that to adjust to courting a human-- a hunter-- and not another werewolf. The gifts of dead animals continued, but now Derek didn't have to worry about startling Stiles with physical contact. In fact, if Derek didn't know any better, he would have thought that Stiles was actually another werewolf with how much contact Stiles himself initiated. There were more kisses, and with each one Derek worried less and less about accidentally hurting Stiles, but more than that there were the more simple touches; touches to the shoulder, the side of the neck, hugs, and occasionally the outright tackle when Stiles teased Derek into chasing him. And then there were the times when they just sat outside of the den, Stiles situated between Derek's legs with Derek's arms around him. They'd spend hours just sitting and talking, simply passing the time. It was good.

But nothing good ever lasts forever.

***

Scott was in the arena, facing off against the blonde female omega that had been captured a few years ago when she threw him into a wall; she'd already pushed him around quite a bit, and while he had been able to keep her from cutting him with her claws, he forgot that the full moon was that night. So when he was thrown into the wall, instinct took over, and he didn't stop himself from leaping to his feet, half-shifted, and roaring at the omega who promptly roared back before attacking once again.

Sheriff Stilinski didn't waste any time, yelling at Chris Argent to shoot the female while he took out Scott. There was a horrified silence surrounding the arena as the two wolves went down, and both hunters efficiently restrained them and threw the female back into her regular container while Scott was trussed up so that he wouldn't get away while someone grabbed another container from the sheriff's station.

The first thing the sheriff did after making sure that both werewolves were under control was approach Stiles. "Did you know about this?" he demanded, looking pretty feral himself.

"No!" Stiles choked out, and it was only then that he realised he was crying. "No, I swear. But Dad, maybe it's okay. He hasn't tried to hurt anyone before, maybe he--"

"Stiles," the sheriff snapped, impatient. "You know better. He'll turn against us sooner rather than later. I'm sorry, son, but he has to die." Behind him, someone was wrestling Melissa to the ground, and a strangled sob rested itself from Stiles. They were taking Melissa to test for the wolf gene-- if she was a carrier, and Scott a born wolf, then both would be executed. The sheriff's expression softened. "I know. But it has to be done."

He walked away after that, leaving Stiles alone.

Luckily Deaton was already at the arena with just about all of his tools, and was able to ascertain that Melissa was one-hundred-percent human. "There is no possibility for a born werewolf," he explained as he packed away his tools. "Not in Beacon Hills. Everyone here is tested at birth to determine if they carry the gene, you all know that. No one able to bear children carries the wolf gene."

That left only one option: An alpha was in town, and had been for a while.

By the time this information had been ascertained, Stiles was already halfway to the outskirts of town. As soon as everyone's backs were turned he had broken out into a run, and he didn't stop now even as a familiar figure came into focus. Instead, he ran straight into Derek's arms.

Derek immediately pulled Stiles close to him, scenting the human urgently; Stiles was unharmed, thank whatever deities may be listening. "What happened?" he asked, pulling back but keeping his hands on Stiles's shoulders. "I heard Scott's roar."

"It was horrible," Stiles sobbed, unable to keep from shaking. "One of the wolves in the arena attacked him, and he shifted in front of everyone, and-- and he _shot_ him! _My dad_ shot him, and they're gonna kill him!"

Derek pulled Stiles back into him, wrapping the human in his arms. "We'll get him back," he promised, his voice low and hard. "I won't let them kill him, Stiles. Not without a fight." He waited, stroking Stiles's back soothingly, until Stiles had calmed down slightly before saying, "We need a plan. Tell me about security on a full moon."

"It's tight," Stiles answered shakily, his voice slightly muffled because his face was still pressed into the crook of Derek's neck. "Mostly centred around the arena, but a couple of patrols go into the Preserve, just in case." He sniffled. "It'll be even worse tonight, though. They took Melissa - um, Scott's mom - in as I was leaving, but they're gonna know by now that he wasn't born a werewolf. Which means they'll be out in droves, looking for you."

Derek was quiet for a moment. "I need to get in there- if I can get Boyd back, and those other two omegas into my pack, we'll all be stronger. They've spent years in the arena fighting hunters; they'll know how to fight. You and I will get Scott, and then head into the Preserve, for the cellar."

"How are we going to get past the hunters?" Stiles asked, his heart pounding at the thought of what they would do to Derek if they caught him. 

Derek made a shushing noise, nuzzling the side of Stiles's face. "I'm good at sneaking around; how do you think I survived six years of patrols in the Preserve? If you can get the attention of whoever guards the entrance closest to the wolves, I can take them out so we can get in. We'll have to be fast."

Stiles nodded and pulled back to look meet Derek's gaze. "I won't let you down," he murmured.

***

Derek and Stiles retreated to the Nemeton to wait for the full moon to rise-- Stiles had said that they most likely wouldn't execute Scott on the night of the full moon, not when they were also concerned about finding Derek. In the cellar, Derek and Stiles were curled up as close to each other as they could possibly get. Neither of them had said anything yet, but Derek got the feeling that they both knew that there was a high chance that one or both of them were going to die or be injured that night. On the other hand, though, if they didn't attempt to rescue Scott, then _he_ would die. Derek didn't want to even think about what that would do to Stiles.

The wolf could practically hear Stiles's mind working, and he carefully nudged Stiles's shoulder before giving him a short kiss. "Hey," he said softly. "Don't overthink this, okay? It'll work out."

Stiles tilted his face up for another kiss before answering. "You don't know that," he whispered.

"No, I don't," Derek admitted, bringing one hand up to gently run his fingers through Stiles's hair. "But I can be optimistic."

Stiles snorted. "You're never optimistic," he argued. "That's my job. And I'm... I'm really scared."

Derek was quiet for a moment. "I know," he murmured. "That's why I'm trying to be optimistic. It's not going to be easy, but I think we can do it." Giving into his instincts, the alpha tugged Stiles closer to him, settling the human more comfortably against his chest so that he could bury his face in Stiles's neck.

Stiles closed his eyes. "Derek," he whispered.

"Yeah?" Derek breathed, pulling back just enough to look Stiles in the face.

"Kiss me."

***

Derek and Stiles made their way back to town under the cover of night, and thanks to Derek's hearing, he was able to steer himself and Stiles away from the patrolling hunters and take them through the quietest part of town to the arena. Stiles directed him to the entrance nearest the cells, and while the teenager distracted the hunters, Derek snuck up behind them and quickly and efficiently knocked them out; he'd debated outright killing them, but that wouldn't help them in the long run. Once the guards were dispatched, Stiles was able to pick the lock and lead Derek through the building. Finally, they made it into the cells, and Derek almost melted with relief when Boyd was the first to come to the front of his cell, as close as the mountain ash would let him. "Derek?" he asked, his voice low but incredulous. "How did you get in here?"

Derek nodded to Stiles, who was busy retrieving the cell keys from one of the unconscious guards. "He helped." Derek didn't fail to notice how Boyd's nostrils flared as the human approached his cell, nor did he miss the sharp look Boyd sent him over Stiles's shoulder. It was a look that clearly stated _What the hell did you do?_

Derek couldn't worry about that too much at the moment, though; he had to speak with the omegas. There was one curly-haired male and blonde female, and Derek approached their cells confidently but not aggressively. "My name is Derek Hale-- I am an alpha, and I want to offer you a place in my pack."

"Derek?" the female asked, stepping up to the bars and into the light. "Oh my God. We thought you were dead."

"Erica?" Derek stared at the girl behind the bars and then darted over to the cell next to her. "Isaac? Is that you?"

Isaac got to his feet and stepped forward. "How did you-- How did you find us?"

Derek let out a breathless laugh. "I'll explain later-- for now we need to get Scott McCall out of here, and get to the Nemeton."

Stiles appeared at Derek's side then, with Boyd behind him. He unlocked the other cells and opened the doors so that the werewolves could get out. "Scott's not here," he told Derek. "He must be being kept somewhere else. You and the others get out now and we'll follow, okay?"

Derek shook his head. "No. I'll come with you to get Scott." Derek turned to the betas-- and they were betas, now, not simply omegas. He could feel the pack bonds that had been destroyed when he'd thought that they had been killed years ago reforging and strengthening. "Boyd, you're second-- I want you to take Erica and Isaac to the Nemeton, to the cellar. You remember where that is?" All three of the betas nodded. "You'll be safe there. If anything happens to me, the alpha power passes to Boyd. You two obey him like you would me, okay?" More nods, and then Derek turned to Stiles. "Let's go."

Stiles knew better than to argue. He led the way through the arena, towards the rest of the cells, trusting Derek to know before they happened across any more guards. "Who are they?" Stiles asked, the words barely more than a whisper. "The other betas. Do you know them?"

Derek kept his hearing alert as he answered, his own voice just as quiet, "Cousins of mine-- I thought they died in the fire, but they must have escaped somehow and then been captured. "At least we didn't have to waste time convincing a couple of omegas to join us." He stopped Stiles with an arm across his chest. "Guards ahead, and I can hear Scott in the cell behind them."

Stiles nodded and let Derek go ahead to deal with them. A single gunshot split the silence, but when he rushed in to see the damage Derek was still standing while the guards lay unconscious on the floor. "Don't scare me like that," he breathed, glaring half-heartedly at Derek, before moving over to unlock the cell behind him. "Hey Scotty. How's it going?"

"Stiles!" Scott fell forward into Stiles, hugging him fiercely; he didn't even notice the other wolf until Derek growled and laid a hand on Stiles's shoulder.

"We need to get going," Derek said urgently, his eyes flickering to the hallway. Scott could hear footsteps, but he was more distracted by the fact that Derek was alive.

Derek was alive, and Stiles smelled a _lot_ like him. "Stiles, what's going on?"

"We're escaping," Stiles hissed, grabbing Scott's hand. "I'll explain everything later but right now we really need to be running."

Scott wanted to argue, but the reminder that he was going to be executed if they didn't haul ass overrode his want for answers. "Right."

Derek led the way out, the three of them staying as quiet as possible-- Derek, however, wasn't the only one who was good at stealth. Just before they reached the last door that led out of the arena, the four eldest Argents appeared, blocking their way. "Well, well," Gerard said, a broadsword held in his grip; Derek couldn't hold back the small snarl when he saw it, remembering the way that hunters worked before werewolves became common knowledge-- wolves were often cut in half to prevent them from healing. "Looks like we missed one alpha, Kate."

"At least we know what to do with him," Kate purred, smirking. "Shame, though. This one's almost... hot."

Derek bared his teeth at the elder hunters. "Like a bitch like you would do anything with a wolf," Derek snarled. "Besides light them on fire. Get out of my way."

Kate laughed, cold and cruel. "I don't think so, sweetheart. You and your little pack here are coming with us." And then she shot him. 

Derek dropped like a stone while Scott instinctively threw himself in front of Stiles; both teenagers watched in horror as Derek thrashed on the floor, until the horror turned to shock-- Derek was shifting.

However, he wasn't shifting into alpha form; rather, he seemed to be shifting into a _human_ form-- the fur receded from his body completely, his forehead smoothed out, his ears rounded and his claws and fangs retracted. Gerard watched in delight. "Well, well-- congratulations, daughter. Your little experiment seems to be a success; if it can force an alpha into a human body, it will work just as well on any other wolf."

By the time that Gerard had finished speaking, Derek was laying on the ground, panting harshly and curled in on himself-- he hadn't even realized that born wolves still had the ability to access a human body. Every bone in his body felt like it had been smashed with a club, and it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize that he was completely naked, and completely vulnerable. He didn't have claws, he didn't have fangs, he didn't have a way of protecting himself-- and whatever was on or in that bullet, whatever Kate had shot him with, wasn't allowing him to return to beta form.

It didn't take the Argents long to overpower them after that. Kate shot Scott with the same kind of bullet and then had him, Derek and Stiles dragged into the centre of the arena, where the sheriff and the rest of the hunters were waiting for them. 

"This is an alpha!" Kate called as Derek was thrown to the ground in the middle of the group. "Not only did he dare to turn a human, but we just caught him and his new beta trying to kidnap one of our own."

"That's not true!" Stiles cried, struggling against the hold Chris Argent had on him. 

The sheriff stepped forward, looking at Stiles. "What are you talking about, son?" he asked, his voice rough-- he'd _known_ Stiles had been hiding something from him, but he never thought it would have been something this big.

Derek bared his teeth at the older man, but it was nowhere near as threatening as it was when he was in beta form. "Don't answer him, Stiles," he said, not looking at the teenager. "They won't hurt you."

"But they'll hurt _you_!" Stiles snapped, before turning back to the sheriff. "Dad, this is Derek Hale, okay? Derek Hale. He has a name, just like you and me. And he's a good person, I swear. Just like Scott. Just like the other wolves that we had in the arena. You can't hurt them, Dad, please."

"And how do you know this?" the sheriff demanded. "Is that what you've been doing, going out to the Preserve to hang out with an _alpha_?"

"Yes," Stiles answered. "And it's the best thing I've ever done, because you know what, Dad? We've got it all wrong. Werewolves are not a threat to us; they're not the monsters people like the Argents have let us think they are."

" _Stiles_!" Derek growled, glaring at the teenager. "Shut up-- you're not going to change their minds. All you're going to do is get yourself labeled a sympathizer!" Derek yelped as Gerard brought the butt of his gun down on the side of his head, but that wasn't enough to take down Derek even in this form; he still had his strength and healing powers.

"Argent," Stilinski said coolly. "This is still my town. Do not hit that werewolf again until I have heard _everything_." Turning back to Stiles, the sheriff folded his arms. "How well do you know this wolf? And how long has Scott been one of them? Are _you_ one of them?"

Stiles closed his eyes, and when he opened them again he felt all kinds of determined. "I'm human," he said coolly. "But I'm part of Derek's pack, which makes me one of them. I'm _definitely_ not one of you anymore."

There were gasps from all sides, and the sheriff felt like someone had just punched him in the gut. "Part of his pack? How the hell-- humans can't be part of a pack."

Deaton stepped forward. "They can, actually," he said, waiting until all eyes were on him before he continued. "Before werewolves were discovered, humans were a common part of packs. A lot of packs had human members-- mates, siblings, parents, cousins, and close friends."

The sheriff narrowed his eyes. "Really?"

Deaton returned the sheriff's gaze evenly. "Yes. I know this because my family was once part of the Hale pack-- for generations, the Deatons were emissaries to the pack, the advisors to the alpha."

Stiles' gaze flickered to Derek, but from the look on his face this was news to him, too.

"Are you saying that you agree with him?" Kate demanded, looking furious. "Are you a disgusting sympathiser, too?"

Deaton met Kate's sneer steadily. "I am saying that if Stiles has earned Derek's... trust, then he speaks the truth when he claims to be a member of the Hale pack."

The sheriff took a step forward, focusing on Stiles once again. "Why?" he asked, frowning. "Why didn't you tell us that there was an alpha in the Preserve? You know the law."

"The law is wrong, Dad," Stiles replied calmly. "Derek's innocent in all this."

"Innocent?" Gerard snarled. "He's a _werewolf_ , boy. They're no innocents."

"When was the last time one of us killed one of you?" Derek demanded. "You burned my pack alive, and then attacked my new one simply because we _existed_! Yes, I bit Scott-- I was trying to get my pack back and they showed up with guns not even a day after hunters killed and captured the rest of my pack." The alpha looked at the sheriff, his gaze hard but desperate. "Tell me that you would react any better when trying to save your _family._ "

" _Please_ , Dad," Stiles implored. "They were just like us before _we_ forced them to live like the animals we decided they were. The Argents are the monsters here!"

The sheriff hesitated, clearly torn, and that was when Gerard stepped forward. "You better think good and hard on how you want to answer that, Sheriff," he said, his voice cold. "The Argent name carries a lot of weight in this country."

The sheriff looked at Stiles first, and then Derek-- whatever he found in their expressions convinced him. "But not in my town-- not anymore," the sheriff said, straightening his shoulders and glaring at Gerard. "When you attacked that tree, claiming it was some sort of supernatural attractor, I let it go because afterwards, we had less trouble with omegas. But then Kate hunted down and burned a pack of wolves alive-- she didn't even do them the mercy of killing them first. Now you attack my son and plan to kill wolves who have done absolutely nothing to warrant being killed. That was the way hunters originally worked-- We killed only those who killed us. The alpha is right; no human from Beacon Hills has been killed by a werewolf in over twenty years, and Scott is the first one to be bitten. You and your daughter will leave Beacon Hills, and if you ever come back, I just might look the other way if Derek wants some revenge."

Kate made a sound that was barely human, and turned her gun on the sheriff. "You can't do this to us!" she screeched. "Who do you think you are?"

"Kate!" It was the first time that Chris Argent had spoken, and his voice cut through the air like a knife. "Let it go. And leave."

Derek saw the tightening in Kate's face, smelled her anger spike and knew what she was going to do-- she was going to shoot the sheriff. With a growl, Derek shoved himself from the ground, aiming for Kate's legs and knocking them out from under her right as the sound of a gunshot rang out. He rolled off of her, not trusting himself to do more than to knock her to the ground; that had given two of the sheriff’s deputies time enough to grab Kate and throw handcuffs on her.

"Dad!" Stiles wrenched himself free of Chris' grip and ran to the sheriff's side, pressing his hand over the blood blooming from his shoulder. "Deaton, help him!"

Deaton grabbed his kit and rushed over to check the sheriff out. "Clean exit," he said, his tone relieved. "We just need to plug it and he'll be fine after it heals." The veterinarian/doctor began cleaning the wound, and then glanced over at where Derek was sitting on the grass of the arena, his knees pulled up to his chest and back to Stiles, who was glancing back and forth between his father and the alpha. "Go to him," he said quietly. "I'll take care of your father."

Stiles looked from Derek to the sheriff, who nodded. "Love you, Dad," he said softly before doing as Deaton suggested. Derek looked shaken when Stiles reached him, but other than that his face was giving nothing away. "You okay?"

Derek shrugged. "I don't know," he answered, looking up. "The sheriff stopped them, but that doesn't mean anyone else will feel the same."

Stiles sat down beside Derek and put an arm around him. "They will," he murmured. "We'll make them understand. The Argents won't be worth shit after this, Derek, I promise."

Derek leaned against Stiles's side, tucking his head under Stiles's chin. "I trust you," he murmured. They were quiet for a moment before a thought hit Derek. "Hey, uh, Stiles? I kinda don't have any clothes."

Stiles felt his face heating up, and he glanced down involuntarily, which made the situation even worse. "Right, umm. Pants. I should get you some pants. You gonna let me up?"

A small grin quirked Derek's mouth as he caught the quick flare of arousal and then mortification in Stiles's scent. "Yeah," he said, leaning away from Stiles so he could get up.

Once Stiles had retrieved some sweatpants from the locker room, he was reluctant to leave Derek's side again. Not only was he worried that one of the other hunters would turn on him, but Derek looked vulnerable like this, without the protection of his claws and his fangs and the hair that had pretty much covered his body before Kate shot him. Stiles sat down beside him again and ducked under his arm, one hand splayed over his smooth chest. "What do you think was in that bullet?" he asked quietly.

Derek plucked idly at the fabric as he thought. "Wolfsbane, defintely-- it's one of the only things that can stop a wolf from shifting, and I can't shift right now. But I have no clue what else could be there to force me into human form. I didn't even know that born wolves could do that anymore. I thought it'd just... been a lost skill." He couldn't help the way his thumb was rubbing small circles on Stiles's upper arm, and then another thought occurred to him. "I need to get my betas," he said quietly. "Once this bullet is out of me, my healing should wear through the rest of the poison quickly, and I need to find them, let them know I'm safe."

Stiles nodded. "I can ask Deaton to get the bullet out once he's finished with my dad, and then we--" He caught himself. "You can go back to the Nemeton."

Derek looked at Stiles curiously. "Why did you change your word?" he asked. "You are pack-- if you wish, you can come with me."

"I didn't want to assume," Stiles answered. "I figured you'd want time with your family."

"Hey," Derek said quickly, shifting so he could take Stiles's face in his hands. "You're just as much my family." His voice lowered so that the only person who could possibly hear him was Scott, if he was paying attention. "You're my mate."

This was not new information, the courting-with-dead-bunnies thing had been a dead giveaway, but to hear it said out loud was something else entirely. Stiles went lax in Derek's hold, his eyes falling shut as he pressed his lips to Derek's, right there in front of everyone. "I love you," he breathed.

Derek smiled into the kiss, but they were interrupted by Scott. "So that's why you didn't kill him," the wolf said, folding himself down to sit in front of them. "You liked him."

"Jesus Christ!" Stiles cried, indignant. "Can you not see that we're having a moment here?!"

Scott raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I could. So could everyone else. Your dad looks like he's swallowed a lemon, and Kate's all but foaming at the mouth."

A quick look up told Stiles that Scott was right. "I don't care," he said defensively. "This isn't going away. Either they can live with it, or they can't. Now can someone please take this bullet out of my mate's chest?"

Deaton raised one eyebrow; he'd already been making his way over, and Stiles hadn't exactly been quiet. "That's what I'm here for," he said, kneeling beside Derek and peering at his wound. "The Hales always did have interesting relationships with hunters."

Derek growled at the vet’s words, but he remained still while Deaton dug the bullet out. When it was out, Derek let out a sigh of relief; he could already feel the wolfsbane dispersing now that the source was no longer inside of him. "Thank you," he said.

"Do you know what that stuff did?" Stiles asked Deaton. "Will he be stuck being all... furry again once it's out of his system?"

"Theoretically, no," Deaton said, depositing the bullet inside of a plastic baggie. "The only thing, I believe, that stopped Derek from taking human form before was the fact that he did not know that born wolves could still do that. Am I correct in thinking that you spent your entire life up to now in beta form?"

Derek nodded. "So did my parents, as far as I know," he answered. "The beta form is just... better."

"And the alpha form even better than that, I suppose?" Deaton's expression was thoughtful, and Derek nodded again.

"Stronger and faster, and better hearing and smell," he confirmed.

Deaton nodded as if that was that. "It will probably be difficult, but no, I don't believe that Derek won't be able to access the human form again after some practice."

Stiles hummed thoughtfully and then smiled. "Okay. Thanks, doc."

***

Just before the poison that had coated the bullet wore off, the sheriff approached the alpha and his mate. "So," he said awkwardly, rubbing absently at the gauze taped to his shoulder. "I'm guessing there's quite a story behind all of this."

"You don't know the half of it, Dad," Stiles agreed. "But we'll tell you everything, I swear. There's just something we need to do first."

The sheriff studied Stiles for a moment before turning his gaze to Derek. "What do you need to do?" he asked.

Derek didn't bother trying to deflect. "Retrieve my betas. I sent them to hide while Stiles and I broke Scott out. Their names are Vernon Boyd, Erica Reyes, and Isaac Lahey-- Boyd is the one you captured most recently, and Erica and Isaac are my cousins. I thought they died when Kate attacked."

The sheriff hummed thoughtfully. "Their control?"

Derek snorted. "They managed to keep from killing any of your students, didn't they?"

"Please, Dad," Stiles implored. "I know I haven't given you much reason to trust me lately but we know what we're doing. Derek needs his pack."

The sheriff didn't look at his son, instead looking at Derek with narrowed eyes. "You'll take full responsibility for their actions?"

Derek nodded. "I'm their alpha; of course I will."

The sheriff grunted. "Then go ahead and get them and bring them back."

Derek couldn't help the way he all but melted in relief. "Thank you, sir." He got to his feet and then held a hand out to Stiles, helping his mate to his feet.

"Oh, and Stiles?" the sheriff added, pinning his son with a look. "When you get back, first chance we get we're discussing your... relationship." The elder Stilinski couldn't help the grimace he gave at the word, but it was more a grimace of disbelief rather than one of disgust.

Stiles nodded, and squeezed Derek's hand. "I think I can handle that."

***

Derek waited until they were in the Preserve before stripping out of the borrowed pants and taking a deep breath. "Well, let's see how difficult this is going to be," he muttered. Closing his eyes, Derek reached for the shift, for the power that let him go from beta to alpha form, and hoped that it would take him from human to beta.

It did. This transformation wasn't anything like what he was used to; his bones rearranged themselves, that was nothing new, but what was most disconcerting was the feeling of the fur growing all over his body. It itched and stung, and Derek had to fight the urge to scratch at himself. His claws grew out and his teeth lengthened into fangs, and when the transformation was done, he let out a relieved sigh; returning to beta form felt like coming home. Looking over himself, everything seemed to be in place, and Derek nodded to himself in satisfaction.

Stiles let out a sigh of relief, and gave Derek a soft smile. Derek looked much stronger like this, like he could protect himself. And yet, Stiles was curious. "Can you still shift back?" he wondered. 

Derek looked at Stiles and shrugged. "Probably?" he offered. "I'm not going to try right now; I need to get to the others." As they started walking, a thought hit the wolf. What if Stiles preferred the human form, now that he knew that Derek could access it? What if Stiles had simply been settling for the beta form?

Stiles, who was oblivious to Derek's inner conflict, simply slipped the sweatpants into his bag for safekeeping and kept walking. 

The betas were extremely wary about going back to town-- and rightfully so. But they were promised the protection of the sheriff, and to be frank, none of them had anywhere else to go. They were astonished to hear that they may be able to look human-- to blend in. They would always be known, of course, but it would make their lives infinitely easier if they could go through the day-to-day life in a form that was closer to that of the humans they would be living among. Before they headed back, Boyd fixed Derek with a pointed look. "Why did he come?" the beta asked, eyes narrowed.

Derek stepped half in front of Stiles protectively. "He is my mate, and the reason we were able to get you out and convince the sheriff to give us a chance."

"This is your mate?" Erica asked incredulously. Her voice was rough with disuse, and her speech was slightly stilted. "He is a hunter; he has fought us before in their arena. Why do you think he can be trusted?"

"He had several chances to kill me," Derek said, meeting Erica's incredulous gaze evenly. "He didn't take them. He wanted to know more about us-- the _real_ us. I bit and turned his best friend, and instead of killing me and him, Stiles helped his friend learn control."

Erica looked from Derek to Stiles, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I still don't trust him," she announced.

Derek sighed. "I know. And you have good reason to not trust any hunters. All of you," he added, looking at Boyd and Isaac as well. "It took me a long time to trust him, and it wasn't easy. I'm asking you to trust me, and to give him a chance."

Erica looked at the others, silent communication passing between all three, and then she nodded. "We trust you, Alpha."

Derek relaxed immediately. "Thank you," he said sincerely, reaching behind himself for Stiles's hand.

Stiles took Derek's readily and gave it a squeeze. "We should probably head back to town," he offered. "Before my dad thinks something's wrong."

Derek nodded, and when he led the way back towards town, the betas followed.

***

None of the wolves had a house in town, and in the end, the sheriff offered them the use of the two spare bedrooms in his own house. Derek accepted, and the betas didn't protest. It took them a little while to get settled enough to fall asleep, and Derek knew that it would be a long, _long_ time before any of them were comfortable enough to sleep through the night and not wake at the smallest noise. When he checked on them, Derek couldn't help but smile at the sight-- they'd commandeered the spare bedroom with the biggest bed, and all three were curled up together. Derek pressed a hand to each other their necks; he'd come back and sleep with them, but first he had something to talk to Stiles about.

The entire pack had stayed in beta form so far; the betas didn't know how to shift to human, and Derek was loathe to try it just yet. His questions from earlier were still bothering him, and Derek needed to know the truth.

Stiles's door was open, and Derek walked in hesitantly; he was still in awe of the fact that Stiles had mated with him, much less that now Derek and his pack could live in town. "Stiles?" he asked, catching sight of the teenager. "Can I talk with you?"

Stiles turned and gave Derek a warm smile. "Sure, come on in."

Derek did, and then hesitated; he didn't want to stand, but he wasn't sure where to sit. In the end, he settled for perching on the edge of the bed. "I... You were shocked to see the human form," he said, trying to sort out his words. "Did-- Is it better, for you?"

Stiles' smile quickly changed to a frown. "I don't understand," he admitted. "Better how?"

Derek shifted uneasily. "Do you prefer me looking more like a human?" he asked quietly, unsure.

Stiles' eyebrows shot up into his hairline, and he folded his arms across his chest. "Has this been bothering you all night?" he demanded.

"Yes," Derek admitted without looking up.

Stiles sighed. "Derek, I adore you, but you're a total dumbass sometimes," he said, not unkindly. "I'm not going to lie, you make a beautiful human, but I don't _prefer_ you looking like that. I don't care what you look like. I just love you."

There was no change in Stiles's heartbeat, and while Derek was not completely reassured, he was satisfied for tonight. "I love you, too," he said, looking up at the human. "Thank you."

Stiles gave him a soft smile. "You should tell me when something's bothering you," he chided gently. "The only reason I asked if you could shift back was because I thought it might be easier for the other people in town to get used to the changes if you all looked more like them. I don't need that concession; I know exactly who you are and I think I've already proven that I'm okay with that." 

Derek smiled sheepishly. "I know. It's just-- We've all spent our whole lives in the Preserve. Kinda hard to change the way we think."

"I get that," Stiles assured him. "Now go take care of your pack."

Derek grinned, getting to his feet and walking over to bury his face in the crook of Stiles's neck briefly before giving him a quick kiss. "Good night, Stiles," he murmured, pulling back before retreating to the bedroom that the betas had claimed. He climbed onto the bed, the betas making room for him in the middle before swarming over him so that there was as much physical contact as possible. Surrounded by his pack, Derek fell into the most restful sleep he'd had in a long time.

***

One of the first issues Derek was confronted with was helping his betas attain a human form. It took them all a few weeks before they could do it with any confidence, but there was no denying that when they weren't confronted 24/7 with someone who was obviously not human, the hunters were much more at ease around the wolves for the most part.

The pack, along with Scott, spent the full moon in the Preserve; the betas didn't want to spend anymore full moons in town, and Derek understood that. So he took them into the Preserve, where they could run and tussle to their hearts' content.

After the full moon, Derek brought Stiles with him to talk to Scott about joining the pack. "I know you don't like me," he began, "but to be an omega is worse than being in a pack with an alpha you don't like. You'll be more likely to lose control, even with an anchor."

Scott was quiet for a moment before turning to Stiles. "What do you think?"

"I think it's a good idea," Stiles answered promptly. "You'll be stronger in the pack, have more control. And besides," he added with a smirk, "I have an in with the alpha. If he pisses you off too much I'm sure I can smack him back into line."

Derek looked at Stiles with an extremely unimpressed expression while Scott thought it over. "I'll give it a try," he conceded. "But I'm not promising anything."

"Thank you," Stiles said, side-eyeing Derek. "Just kidding about that smacking thing, though."

Derek snorted. "I'm sure you were," he said dryly before turning to Scott. "The rest of the pack and I are going to be doing a bit of running in the Preserve-- tracking each other and basically just spending time together and out of town so that we can shift. Care to join?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah, I'd like that."

***

It took time, but at last things in Beacon Hills began to change. There were still certain people who refused to acknowledge the werewolves, a select few who were known to even spit in their direction, but none would dare to openly defy the sheriff's position. For the most part Derek and his pack had been accepted by the town, and were being helped more than hindered on their quest to be reintegrated into society. No one ever forgot what they were, but the wolves wouldn't have it any other way; they didn't want to return to the way it had been for their grandparents, who had had to hide their real identities in order to stay safe. 

Surprisingly, Allison Argent had been one of the first to stand with the sheriff, followed closely by her father. Kate and Gerard had been driven from the town, but Allison was loyal to Scott and Chris to his daughter, so they were permitted to stay. Another of those brave enough to make the first move against the rest of the townsfolk was Lydia, who had expressed a newfound interest in Stiles in the aftermath of all the commotion. Apparently his bravery and determination to stand up for what he believed in were qualities she deemed worthy of her attention, but she was disappointed to learn that he no longer wanted it. Stiles had barely spared a thought for Lydia since he'd met Derek. 

Derek had been immensely pleased when Stiles had seemingly turned down Lydia's invitation on a date without even realizing what he was doing; to further emphasize the point that Stiles was _his_ , he'd immediately pulled Stiles into him and started scent-marking him vigorously, making the teenager laugh and shove at him playfully. Judging by the look on Lydia's face at his display, his message had come across loud and clear.

Things weren't completely easy inside of the pack, either-- Erica and Isaac had spent most of their lives in the arena, and Boyd had spent just about all of his on the run. Those three were much slower to trust humans, not having the experience that Scott or Derek had. There were still times where the betas would back-talk or otherwise disrespect Stiles, despite him technically outranking everyone else but Derek by virtue of the fact that he was the Alpha's mate. After a heated discussion, Derek had finally stopped fighting that particular battle for Stiles-- he'd been forced to admit that it hadn't been addressing the source of the problem, which was that the other wolves didn't believe that Stiles was strong enough to be their alpha's mate. Stiles starting sticking up for himself more, and while he would never be able to match the wolves in speed and strength without taking the bite himself, he was certainly more than capable of outwitting them.

It had been surprising at first, getting support from the remaining Argents, but in retrospect, Allison seemed to be Scott's Stiles; and with the Argents being a matriarchal family, where Allison went, her father followed. There were still times when Derek caught Chris watching him a little more closely than was warranted, but he didn't blame the hunter-- old instincts died hard. Derek still had to keep himself from slipping to the Preserve every day to catch food; he kept forgetting that now, he could buy it in the grocery store, thanks to the job he'd picked up with the sheriff's department, working with the deputies, supplementing their human senses with his superhuman ones.

All in all, though, life was good. Derek had his pack, he had his mate, and he had a life that, for once, promised more than a life on the run.

It was a pretty good deal.


End file.
